Sliced
by MellythehunMalfoy
Summary: Updates weekly. Post-war, Harry now has peace to clear his troubled mind, but a death dirtying his own hands brings him close to an old nemesis. Romione and Drarry ships. Mature for a reason. Explicit sex, some violence and strong language. Reviews are very much encouraged and appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

_Pierced in the heart,  
By a sinister dark,  
Thrown from an insecure tongue.  
Unaware of the arrow sticking out of his chest,  
Embedded when he was so young._

_I never would have thought,_  
_that the poison would rot,_  
_away and away and away._  
_It eats at his pride, and he constantly hides,_  
_Afraid of what others will say._

_And often at night,_  
_He turns out the light,_  
_Anxiously waiting for sleep._  
_The world of his dreams is better it seems,_  
_There he can finally be free._

_But the arrow — it stays,  
it's there when he wakes.  
Binding his feet to the ground,  
Perpetually holding him back from his goals.  
A mountain he can't get around._

* * *

**Chapter One**

* * *

_Harry Potter…_

_Come to me…_

_Harry Potter…_

_Hear me…_

Harry sat at the breakfast table with Hermione, Ron, George, Percy, Ginny and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley after another sleepless night. He wasn't fully rested and he was on edge, due to the fact that his recent dreams showed him glimpses of Azkaban and pleas from a woman's dry voice. He could smile, though, because The Burrow's kitchen was full of enchanted dishes and light-hearted music that buzzed from a radio-like contraption in the living room. Hermione had her button nose in the Daily Prophet and Ron was stuffing his face from across the table, next to her. George's smile was always shy nowadays, only half there. He humored his mother and father, though, with tales about the business taking off and his wellness. Percy ate silently and politely, sharing a smiling glance with whomever met his eyes. Harry let a warm smile dress his face, and he sighed lovingly. The house was home and the Weasley's were family. Soon to be legally. He looked to his fiancée, Ginny, and she grinned. All was well until Hermione threw the paper into the middle of the table,

"Can you believe this?" Hermione exclaimed.

"Whurght?" Ron asked through two friend eggs and what looked like bacon trying to escape his mouth.

Hermione rolled her eyes and she shot her eyes between all the family members, explaining,

"The Ministry's not stopping at Lucius Malfoy! You'd think they'd be wiser than all this. It's barbaric. They have been putting all these guilty Death Eaters to death. The paper is saying they are_ interviewed_ beforehand, for last bits of information or secrets to document – which is a very kind way of saying they're interrogating them, and I, honestly, wouldn't be shocked if we find out ten years from now that the Ministry was torturing them! You can't kill people to show that killing is wrong… Well, last month they killed Lucius Malfoy. It looks like this week they're publically killing Narcissa Malfoy,"

Ron gulped and wide-eyed, responded, "Well, you're right, o'course, 'Mione, but what would you propose they do?"

He glanced to Harry and then back to Hermione, "I mean… they need all the information they can squeeze outta those Death Eaters – what if there was a Plan B, ya know? And I'm sure there are a lotta families that wouldn't be able to rest at night, knowing those Death Eaters are out there, walking about, ya know?"

Hermione frowned and replied, "I know, I do… there just has to be a better way. And torture is entirely unnecessary."

Ginny asked openly, "Are they going to kill Draco Malfoy?"

Harry's heart sank; not that he cared terribly for Draco Malfoy, but the thought that he'd saved Draco from a blazing fire only to have him executed publically – it left him with a pale feeling inside. Hermione shrugged,

"As far as I can tell, they're only executing adults. Draco wasn't eighteen when he was a Death Eater. Not to mention the Ministry's seeing to it that anyone he's ever relied on is dead, so I imagine that'll be punishment enough. They're still trying to collect the Malfoy riches, though,"

George nodded in agreement, "Yeah, I heard about that. Sounds like tons'uh money belongs to the 'Malfoy Heir', which is Draco. The parents aren't tellin', and they can't legally torture or interrogate Malfoy for the answers, so the bankers must be going mad,"

Molly smiled at George as she finally sat down at the table, herself. She looked between George and Mr. Weasley and said, "I think the Malfoy's fortune should be passed down to us! We need it after all. They had one child! Imagine! One!"

"Malfoy riches?" Harry asked, his eyes wandering around the table for someone to explain.

Ginny met his eyes and told him, "The Malfoy's are bloody rich, we all know that, but no one entirely knows how. All that's escaped in rumor is that they've a private, secret spot to save it. It's rumored that it's more than enough money to re-build Hogwarts a hundred times. But Malfoy's parents must be saving that money for Draco, in the likely situation that they'd die during or after the war,"

Hermione looked pleadingly at Harry, then,

"Harry…"

He quirked a brow, "…what?"

"Harry," She said again, reaching her hand across the table to touch his arm, "Savior of the Wizarding World, Harry…"

"No. You know I can't stop the Ministry, Hermione," He cut in.

"Harry!" she whined, "You've got to! You've got to try! You can't let them kill his mother! It's absolutely primitive!"

Harry patted at his lips with his napkin, stood and raised his arms in surrender,

"I can't, Hermione. I really can't get involved. You know they don't take orders from me; I can't just change laws like that. The Ministry is doing what they see fit and, whether I like it or not, they're going to keep doing it,"

He left the room at that and ascended to Ron's room, which he was sharing for the weekend. He heard Hermione grumbling in general discontent to Ron as he left. He fell onto the bed opposite Ron's and sighed, breathing back in all the musty, Earthy smells. Harry had begun worrying that he wasn't aiding the Death Eater parents, only because it felt just.

Deep inside Harry, where that divide of good and evil sat, his darker side insisted that the children of the Dark Lord's reign deserved to be orphaned. Just like he'd been. He knew that wasn't okay, though.

He rolled onto his stomach and contemplated going to the Ministry. He could always plea, but with her execution in a week, he knew there was no way to stop it in time. He quickly resigned to visiting the woman. Not that visiting anyone, especially a non-relative, in Azkaban was legal either. He knew he could do that, though. All that entailed was throwing his invisibility cloak on and following a guard into her cell. He could map that. He was hesitant, though. He felt laziness and doubt enveloping him. Despite wanting to help, he didn't really have the tools or ability to. And even visiting a dying woman, now entirely defenseless, posed some kind of task to him. He pledged to himself that this was the last he'd involve himself in any of the Ministry matters.

He had been in and out of their courtrooms, for months, giving testimonies and convincing juries to trust his leniency on many prisoners. On top of the funerals, the awful public speeches and eulogies he had to give, he just didn't want to do anything more. He saved the Wizarding World, right? He just wanted some time off.

_Harry Potter…_

He heard echoing around the caverns of his mind.

_Harry Potter… in two days. Cell XXIV. Hear me. Hear me._

Harry's eyes felt heavy, looking out the bedroom window to open, sunny hills. His mind's eye was showing him images of Azkaban and a feminine voice was speaking so weakly. The air was humid, warm and comfortable.

_Hear me. Hear me._

He could hear waves crashing; he could feel cold, wet stone.

A soft breeze was crossing the fields and trickled against Harry's face as it pushed itself from out the window, into Ron's room. He let his eyelids fall; his full stomach and prior night of restlessness drew him into a gentle sleep.

_Hear me._


	2. Chapter 2

_And I, I was up past the dawn. Spots of twilight gone.  
I've been hounded by the wounds that with speak, and spittle bitter tongue.  
Things eclipsing all the time, for bending more's a lie.  
And I always learn the hard way, its instinct to be true; an instinct to be true._

_And I'm, gonna tell this world - The only difference now, is that I'm envisioning._  
_And I'm, gonna spread my wings, cause I'm envisioning, my only sinking ship._

_And oh, everywhere I go, taken with that same old  
feeling with me now, it gets me through my ups and  
downs._

_I'm wide awake. I'm wide awake. I'm wide awake._

* * *

**Chapter 2**

* * *

Harry was gently woken by Hermione. His eyes opened slowly and from a glance over her shoulder, out the window, he could tell it was early evening. He looked at her in a sorry way. She smiled and tucked some of her chocolate locks behind a small ear, before softly saying,

"It's a bit late,"

He nodded, "Right… sorry. Didn't sleep much last night,"

"It's alright. Ron's saying he's got a surprise for us. He'd like us to dress a bit formally,"

Harry sat up and wondered aloud, "Where could we be going?"

"I've no idea," She grinned, "But he insists we'll have a fun time and for you to get up!"

Harry grinned back at her and nodded positively.

Once she left the room, he began to dig through his suitcases for a collared shirt and some formal pants. He laid them across his bed and headed towards the bathroom for a shower, when he bumped into Ginny. She was in a small coral dress with silver, sparkling jewelry around her neck and on her ears. She was smiling beautifully at him and he smiled back.

"You look lovely,"

"You don't," She insulted lovingly, still beaming.

He rolled his eyes and chuckled, "Yeah, yeah. I'm getting in the shower now. Just a bit low on sleep lately,"

She stepped close to him, her feminine hands crawling onto his chest. They were nose-to-nose when she whispered,

"Well, if you're up all night, Harry, you should be coming to see me. We can be up all night together,"

He blushed and felt a touch of nausea. He put his hands on top of hers and began to back away,

"Ginny…"

"Ginny!" Hermione shouted from another room.

The redhead turned around towards her own bedroom, where Hermione was staying.

"Yeah?"

"I need you to help me! You've a much better fashion sense!" Hermione called back.

Harry smirked at the idea of Hermione rummaging around her shared room, in the hopes of putting together something to impress Ron. She was brilliant, but lacked some basic 'feminine' social intellect. Harry thought briefly that he should remind Hermione that she could cut up a trash bag to wear and Ron would still be floored by her. He decided that he would keep the thought to himself, though. Ginny gave him one last long look, before turning around and going back to Hermione. He barely noticed his shoulders relaxing again and his body loosening its binding tension. He went into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He stepped towards their shower and turned the nozzle, knowing there would be a bit of a wait for hot water. As he undressed, he wondered where all the dirt had gone. He looked at his toned arms and slight body hair, thinking of all the ash, the dirt and blood and sweat that had once decorated his body. All the filth seemed to be there throughout his troubled years, but somehow he was clean again. He couldn't recall the last time he was so clean and he couldn't remember scrubbing that old layer of filth off.

When he stepped into the warming water, he saw flashes of the frozen pond, Godric Gryffindor's sword and the harsh choking around his neck. He focused, though, on the relief he felt when Ron pulled him out of death's icy strangle. He tried very hard to reflect on goodness when he would have flashbacks or brief interactions with his damaged past. He hoped that nightmares that still plagued him from the years of war and fear would begin to have, perhaps, at least, breaks of peace. He went to grab a bottle of washing gel, but very suddenly felt overwhelmingly apathetic. He left his arm in midair, unable to find the energy or will to do anything with it. He eventually slid down and sat on the floor of the shower, leaning against the far wall, allowing the now steaming water to beat against his chest and stomach. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He hoped he wasn't going mad. He, in no way, was manic or crazed the past months, but he considered himself acting unfeeling. He knew Ron and Hermione noticed it, but he hadn't spoken to Ginny about it. Ron had asked him if he was okay and Harry knew that it likely took the redhead days of observation to reach the conclusion that a general inquiry was necessary. Hermione, on the other hand, had been giving him warning, strange glances throughout the days, whenever he acted out of character. She knew something was off about him, but she wasn't about to interrogate him about it. She used her eyes and arms to demonstrate concern generally.

Harry hoped then that Hermione and Ron didn't talk about him when he wasn't there. He hated that. He couldn't even describe why. He only knew that he did not like being a topic of discussion behind closed doors. He opened his eyes again and sat up slightly, so that the water was falling directly over his head. He lolled his head round and round, relaxing his back and slouching his shoulders while the hot water cascaded down him.

Hermione pulled Ginny into the room and closed the door behind her and asked,

"Do you know what he's planning?"

Ginny quirked a brow and Hermione insisted, "Ron!"

Ginny shaped her lips in a realizing "Oh," and confessed, "Sorry, Hermione, I have no idea what tonight is about,"

Hermione pouted and went back to digging through her charmed suitcases, pulling out what must have been the wardrobes of at least three people. Ginny stopped her and told her,

"Hermione, you really shouldn't be panicking so much,"

The brunette huffed and Ginny assured her, "Ron is funny, I know, but he's pretty easy to please,"

Hermione sat down on her bed and looked at Ginny pleadingly and asked, "Ginny… are you and Harry having… are you two intimate?"

Ginny blushed slightly and answered, "No, not yet. Harry says he's recovering and that it simply isn't on his mind,"

Hermione wanted to say so much in response; that, if upon looking at her, he was not thinking of her body shape, face or beauty, that it was suspicious. She wanted to say that a giant part of healing from trauma is pushing comfort zones to feel loved and close to others again. She certainly did not want to offend Ginny, though, so she stayed silent.

"Why?" Ginny asked.

Hermione sighed and replied, "Well, Ron and I haven't either… I mean, he kisses me a lot, he holds my hand under the kitchen table and, really, whenever he gets a chance… and he always sits next to me…"

"So, what's the problem?" Ginny wondered while grimacing inwardly that Harry did none of those things with her.

"Nothing – no, I mean, there's not a problem, exactly… I just sometimes wonder if… he'd prefer I look…different," She answered shyly.

Ginny laughed and put her hand on Hermione's shoulder and told her with a big smile, "That's ridiculous! Hermione, he's mad over you! Have you asked him about it?"

"No!" She squeaked – she went to try to cover up the emotional slip, but surrendered to it, "You see? I can't even imagine asking him… even though we've known each other for so long, I know that there's still so much I don't know about him and I want to be closer to him, you know?"

Ginny knew precisely the feelings Hermione spoke of and finally said, "You should tell him that. But his distance definitely has nothing to do with how you look," She smiled again and added, "Whenever you're not looking he's ogling you,"

Hermione blushed and pushed Ginny in a friendly attack of disbelief, "Stop it!"

Ginny giggled and insisted, "I'm serious!"

Hermione scowled playfully, a curl by the corners of her lips evident as she exclaimed, "There's no way! I'd have certainly caught him if he ever did!"

In the bathroom, Harry was meditating, still under the hot water, having soaped his body and hair. He could hear the soft sound of the girls laughing from the other side of the wall from which the shower head protruded. He stood and rinsed off more until he was sure steam was escaping the small window at the top of the left most wall, in the shower. He went to step out of the shower when he saw the inner walls of Azkaban surrounding him. The fright made him slip and fall onto his tailbone. He seethed and felt grateful that there was an overly furry rug beneath him, as it likely soaked in most of the shock. He heard the woman's voice again.

_Do not ignore me…_

"Stop it!" He yelled harshly, his head pounding with quickly rising frustration.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice came from beyond the bathroom door.

"Yeah?" He asked, rubbing his lower back in pain.

"Are you alright in there?"

"Yeah," He said, exasperated as he stood, "Just had a slip. I'm fine,"

Hermione must have accepted that response, because she was gone from the door as quickly as she had arrived to his aid. Harry took a look in the foggy mirror, rubbing his hand across the glass until he could see himself. His eyesight truly wasn't so bad; it was really just as if the edges and outer lines of everything were smudged. He put his glasses on and all his vision became sharp again. His face certainly did not reveal any apparent signs of insanity, but he had no idea what those signs would look like. He looked down to his callused hands and at his pale stomach. He sighed, calming down again and wrapped a towel around his waist. When he walked into Ron's bedroom, he was standing in front of his mirror, in a very formal collared shirt. Harry and he met eyes and they smiled at each other. If there was anyone that could break Harry's bouts of apathy, it was Ron Weasley. He simply couldn't imagine being happy in life again without Ron.

"What are you planning, exactly?" Harry asked him.

Ron grinned and rushed over to him, closing the door and whispering, "It's a surprise, for Hermione,"

"What should I be wearing?"

"Do you still have your dress robes?" Ron asked excitedly.

Harry's brows bounced up on his forehead and he replied, "Well, yes, but do you really think we'll be needing that?"

"Yeah, but bring them in a different bag or something – dress formally, but not like that," Ron told him.

"You've lost me,"

"Just trust me," Ron beamed, "Oh, and, can you take this too?"

Ron handed Harry a newly dry-cleaned something covered by a black cloak. Harry nodded and shrugged off his confusion. He set the same extension charm on his pant pocket that Hermione set on her pocketbook. He packed dress shoes and robes and put on a semi-formal outfit, which was apparently only for show. Ron, Ginny and Harry waited downstairs for Hermione to descend, while Ginny insisted that they be particularly complimentary towards Hermione. When she finally did come down, Ron was immediately entranced by her; she donned blue gem earrings and a matching necklace that was thin and silver and gave her bust an elegant allure. She was dressed in a knee-length, strapless black dress and very high heels; in fact, she was now able to look Ron directly in the eye. He smiled at her with eyes sparkling and Harry sucked in secondhand happiness. Ginny went and grabbed his hand in hers which startled him momentarily. He gave her a half-smile and she, a bit deflated, settled for the reaction.

Ron took his father's newer and more functional flying car and took them for a half-an-hour drive. None of them recognized the territory they flew over. He eventually landed the car safely and helped Hermione and Ginny out of the car. He cast invisibility over the car and led them from their out-of-sight parking spot, into the cobble street of a busy strip. Hermione noted that everything looked very upper-class and formal – more-so than what her outfit called for. She stuck close to Ron's side as he led them down the road to a large, white hall where hundreds of people were dressed in gowns and tuxes. Long stained glass windows revealed chandeliers inside, a banquet and tons and tons of people. Ron turned to the three behind him and smiled knowingly.

"What's going on here?" Ginny asked.

Ron looked to Hermione, who was feeling acutely self-conscious in the face of the elegant ball gowns and buildings and he announced,

"I wanna make it up to you, Hermione,"

She thought briefly that the shade of red his cheeks were turning was adorable and flattering before asking, "What?"

"You told me I ruined that night for you… the Yule Ball,"

Harry was shocked and Ginny didn't understand the significance of the situation; he had expected no less. Hermione's eyes were immediately glassy and Ron explained,

"The guy who owns this hall is a wizard and I saw a bit about him in the paper, he's got a lot of money. Too much, if you ask me. He was holding this giant dance for his co-workers and a bunch of big-wigs – he's in the business of trading, selling and taming rare dragons," Ron set his eyes back onto Hermione's, "So, I wrote to him. I told him that I'm really dirt poor, but that I finally… got the girl of my dreams to hold my hand and… I told him that there was a lot of time and mistakes I wanted to make up for, for love, you know?"

Hermione's cheeks were slowly becoming red while Ron went to take her hands in his. He looked at her tenderly and continued,

"I asked him if there was any way he would ever consider giving me admission to the private dance he was holding, after I explained all about the Yule Ball mishap and all… he didn't just give me four invitations, but he, uh… he gave me a job,"

Ginny let out a shrill little scream while Harry's face was overcome with a giant grin; as was Hermione's. She darted her eyes all over his freckled face, looking for signs that it might all be a dream. He told the group,

"So, I'll be leaving pretty soon for overseas for a little… he says he likes my character," Ron smiled.

"This is for me?" Hermione asked timidly.

Ron breathed out, "Course,"

He cupped his hands around her cheeks and told her, "Everything's for you, Hermione,"

Harry was smiling, watching the brunette falling in love all over again. Ron had perfected the art of romantic timing and Harry envied him for that. Ginny was up to disrupting their romantic gaze, though.

"Well, Ron! When do you go? And what will you be doing?"

Ron looked to his sister and told her, "I'll give you and mum and dad all the details tomorrow. Let's go to this party,"

Hermione stopped him and exclaimed, "I haven't got something appropriate to wear, Ron! You should've warned me, really!"

"Don't worry," He smirked, "Harry?"

They all turned to him reaching into his pant pocket and slowly pulling out something long and covered by a black sheet on a wire hanger. Ron gave Harry a thanking smile as he took the hanging article and presented it to Hermione. She unwrapped it as Ron held it up for her; awe and tears struck her face when she recognized the gown she wore to the Yule Ball. She looked up to Ron's knowing eyes and she stammered,

"How – how? When?"

Ron chuckled and replied, "It just needed a gentle cleaning. It looks brand new, doesn't it?"

She covered her glossed lips with a weak hand and seemed at a complete loss. Ron finally announced, "So, let's go get changed and let me make it up to you,"

Hermione and Ginny ran off together to change in a close-by bar while Harry and Ron simply slipped into the shadow of an alleyway. They switched into tuxes and Harry complimented Ron, saying, "You've really got this romance down to an art, haven't you?"

Ron told him it took a lot of practice and far too much thinking, but that it was worth the reaction. The group reconvened outside the hall and Ron flashed his specialized invitations to the young man outside the doors. The hall was luxurious and massive. There was a table in Ron's name and it donned entry gift-baskets and name cards, marking their individual seats. Ron's seat had a note, that in cursive read;

_So glad to hear from a real gentleman in this day and age. My colleagues and I are extremely excited to have you join our team. You'll be hearing from me soon. I hope you and your love enjoy yourselves._

_Regards,_

_Theodore M. Barthum_

They placed down their smaller belongings onto the table while Hermione admired the live orchestra. Hypnotized by the music, glowing chandeliers, decorated tile and stone – the beautiful colors and shapes of the wizards and witches dancing and socializing; she was frozen and nearly faint. The music carried through the entire hall, making the stained glass windows dance. Giant vases held massively tall flowers that shimmered in the light of the sparkling drinks and lights and people. The hall was lit with whites and golds; pearls and coins and crystals hung from the high, rounded ceiling. Hermione was only brought back to the reality of the night by Ron gently touching her revealed shoulder. She turned to find him presenting a long, twisted glass of a sparkling, carbonated something.

"No alcohol," He assured, "We can party like that later,"

She giggled and threw her arms around his shoulders and kissed him so sweetly, he nearly melted. He looked guilty, then and asked her,

"You'll still be happy when you realize I'm a terrible dancer, right?"

She laughed again and nodded positively. He grinned back at her and she sipped on what tasted like strawberry and pomegranate in some sort of carbonated mango puree. It was thick with flavor but light on her throat. Harry had gone to the far end of the hall, starving and looking at the extensive, stone tables of food. He ended up making himself a plate that was so covered and stacked, he decided that he might not be able to dance at all. Or ever fit into his dress robes ever again. Ginny was conversing with someone; a boy. At the same time that Harry regretfully wished he were at this extravagant event with someone else, he also felt a type of betrayal; his inner animal was territorial and he couldn't help that. He put his plate down onto their designated table and watched from afar, while Ron and Hermione danced in the crowd of party-goers. The young man was vaguely familiar, but Harry didn't want to think about it too much.

_Harry Potter…_

He glared to himself, trying to chew loud enough that it would cover the noise in his head.

_You cannot ignore me. _

_You will not escape me._

_I must see you._

_Hear me._

_Hear me._

He looked up to find a masked woman sitting in across from him. He was startled and stared wide-eyed. The edges of her figure were frayed, like parchment saved from a fire. Her white-blue eyes pierced him from behind her feathered and jeweled mask. Her red lips parted slowly,

"You cannot ignore me. You will not escape me. I must see you. Hear me. Hear me, Harry Potter,"

"Mate?"

Harry jumped in his seat and looked over his shoulder, to wear a slightly sweaty Ron stood, looking a touch concerned. Harry glanced to the other end of the table, where the woman had been sitting, but there was no one there.

"You doin' alright?" Ron asked.

Harry looked to Ron and told him, "Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. I bit distracted is all,"

"Where's Ginny?"

Harry shrugged and replied, "Dunno. She was talking to someone across the hall a little while ago,"

Ron followed Harry's eyes to the other end of the dance floor, where Ginny had been. She had migrated to a corner with the young man and Ron wondered,

"Isn't that Cormac McLaggen?"

"Is it?" Harry answered, squinting his eyes behind his glasses to see more clearly.

"He certainly looks different," Hermione said.

They both looked to Ron's right side, where Hermione had somehow, some when, crept up to. She gave an awkward smile and muttered,

"Just wanted to contribute,"

Ron switched his eyes back to Harry and asked, "You mind dancing with Hermione while I gorge myself?"

Harry smiled again and stood, taking Hermione's hand.

"Of course,"

Ron gave Hermione a kiss on the cheek, asked her if she wanted anything and when she declined, he left them to dance. They entered the dance floor together and Harry remembered their dance when Ron had left them. He knew Hermione was thinking of it too. Her eyes were glassy but her smile was sincere and Harry couldn't quite tell what it made her feel. Maybe she was so glad all of that was past, maybe she missed her parents more on nights she couldn't be more loved, maybe she was feeling the soreness of the night of the Yule Ball all over again. Maybe she remembered dancing with Harry, but wishing it was Ron, maybe she wishing the night would last forever but knew it wouldn't. Or, maybe it was all of those feelings boiling and festering deep inside her that made her miserably euphoric.

"Why is Ginny talking to McLaggen?"

Harry answered her with another question, "Why is he even here?"

"I heard he went into dragon trading early – his father owns a conservation somewhere in Ireland,"

Harry understood how McLaggen might have connections then, to events like the ball. He spun Hermione and when she came back around, she asked again,

"But why is she talking to him?"

"How should I know?" He responded as indifferently as possible.

Hermione perked an eyebrow and told him, "She says you two aren't very romantic,"

Harry blushed and whined, "Why do girls insist on talking about personal stuff like that?"

There was a short quiet wherein they waltzed together and simply shared a stare. Harry eventually broke and told her,

"I'm not sure, Herm. I just don't feel good yet,"

She nodded and replied, "That's okay, just be careful,"

The night went on and they danced it away, twirling and laughing and as midnight approached, they began drinking. The more alcohol Ron consumed, the better dancer he became and the more drinks that Harry and Hermione took, the more they laughed and danced. They reminisced on their early years at Hogwarts, recalling Professors' names and who was useless and who was the most fun, the best and worst Quidditch games. At around two in the morning, the party began to clear and dismiss and Ron encouraged them to go to a bar. They eventually found Ginny, still huddled in the corner table with McLaggen. Ron, drunkenly courageous, interrupted them and dragged Ginny away.

"Are we going home?" She asked.

"No," He roughed up her hair, "We're going drinking,"

"You already sound tipsy! Plus, I'm tired and I can't drink!"

Ron made some kind of groaning noise, "Gin, don't be like that,"

She scowled at him and ended up being forced into a wizard's bar that was about a half-an-hour away from the party site. The place was bouncing with current wizard music and Ginny watched them, disgruntled, as the three competed with jumping shots. Their sloppy laughter and dancing and joking made Ginny frustrated and far apart from the group. When she complained that she was hungry, Ron insisted that she should have stayed with them when they ate, instead of 'running off' with McLaggen. She blushed and argued with Ron a little but quieted down again. Harry did not come to her defense, his buzz making him happy to be with his best friends and somehow aggravated with her. He offered her a butterbeer, but she declined snobbishly and oozed disdain most the rest of the night.

Hermione's once perfect hair had come undone, her glossy curls falling around her face and her classy smile had turned into a fun, seductive smirk. Ron and she were bonding in a way Harry never had with Ginny. In fact, they were bonding in a way Harry never had with anyone. His envy grew, but he could still feel that secondhand happiness.


	3. Chapter 3

_I've been out walking. I don't do too much talking these days._

_These days, these days I seem to think a lot about the things I forgot to do._

_And other times, I had the chance to._

_I stopped my rambling. I don't do too much gambling these days._

_These days, these days I seem to think about how all the changes came about my way. _

_And I wonder if I'd see another high way._

_I had a lover. I don't think I'd risk another these days. _

_It's just that I've been losing for so long._

* * *

**Chapter 3**

* * *

Harry awoke with a fierce headache, but he was always glad to wake with a normal headache; they were very different than the sharp pains he used to get in his scar. He found he was alone in Ron's room, still in his white undershirt and dress pants. Brief observation explained that he had tried getting undressed, but fell asleep before achieving that goal. He stepped up and out into the hallway and went to the bathroom. When he exited, to go downstairs and see what time it was and if breakfast was available, he noticed Ginny's bedroom door was closed. Usually, she left her door a bit open to allow Hermione and her cat in and out as they pleased. Harry recalled her being disgruntled the night before and couldn't bear to worsen his headache with worrying about it. He went down the stairs and found Hermione and Ron, snuggled closely on the couch closest to the Weasley's fireplace, which was still going. Hermione's cat was curled up on top of Ron's head, and gave Harry a tired look. He chuckled, then checked their most normal clock, in the kitchen, and Harry found that it was only nine in the morning. He thought about going back to sleep, but knew that he wouldn't be able to.

He checked on the flying car, which was off and parked by the side of the house, in perfect condition. He couldn't recall getting home, but he was glad to be alive and unscathed. He went back into the house, escaping the slight chill from outside and poured a glass of orange juice for himself. He heard a shuffle and looked over his shoulder to find George. They shared a tired smile and George asked what Harry was doing up at the time.

"I don't really know," Harry answered, "What about you?"

George shrugged and replied, "I don't really sleep much anymore,"

They both fell quiet after that until George cleared his throat and asked, "Hermione and Ron have a good time? They sure look cozy,"

Harry laughed a little and nodded, "Yeah, yeah. They were both drinking like maniacs, though. I'm sure they won't be feeling as upbeat today as they were last night,"

George chuckled and Harry asked, cautiously curious, "So, uhm… has there been any more word on the, uh, the Malfoy's?"

George gave him a surprised, quizzical look and told him, "Uh, no, mate. I mean, I haven't heard anything else since the other day,"

"Ah," Harry sighed out, "Alright. Well, thanks,"

"Are you thinking of trying to stop it?"

Harry shook his head slowly, "No, no… I mean, I want to, I don't think this… death sentence is right, but, I really don't have much power over the situation,"

George went to argue that point, but he, instead, just nodded in quiet defeat. Harry knew that everyone wanted him to do something powerful and world-altering, but he didn't have it in him. He was resigned from being bold and self-sacrificing. He wanted to boldly go to sleep or martyr himself to a day on beach. He couldn't find the will power or the strength or the general wellness it took to fight anymore. Not to mention, that since the war ended, everyone seemed quite certain that his opinions or plans were no longer of consequence.

Despite all that, Harry opted not to tell his friends where he would be the next day. Rather, he carried on the following two days in a perfectly normal manner. He ate properly and politely, he avoided conversation that warranted frowning or long gaps of silence; he tried to sleep, even. After the war, Harry was finding it immensely difficult to acclimate to life outside constant anxiety and wartime. He tended to believe that Hermione and Ron felt similarly, but if they were, they were being just as quiet about it as he was. Ginny, though… she couldn't quite understand. Even if Harry tried to explain the feelings and experiences he had, when he was an icon of war and peace, the famous and infamous tales and rumors and secrets, being on the run, frightened of every undiscovered corner – Ginny couldn't relate. Hermione and Ron were always able to follow what he couldn't verbalize, on the rare occasions that he attempted articulating overgrown and shadowed hopes, feelings and dreams, experiences. Hermione knew the terror they lived in for so long and constantly felt the loss of her parents. Ron knew the strain for normalcy – the constant craving for reassurance; the menacing and ever-present fear of loss. All of them knew what it felt like to go, blindly, where no one had tread before. They knew what it was like, to have manifested evil strapped around their necks. They knew what facing their mortality was, they knew those inexplicable times of where life was a collection of phantasmagoric scenes – broken only by the rush of panic or sadness. They understood why life could never be the same. They understood why they could never feel like children again. A painful sacrifice, but one that was positively mandatory during war.

Harry worried that Ginny and he would never relate. Harry was even more displeased with the knowledge that he, frankly, couldn't find himself attracted to her anymore. After returning from the Forbidden Forest, after returning to the Burrow to be nursed into contentment again, she seemed like a faraway child. There was a disconnect between them, but he wasn't willing to mention it. Even accept it. He was ignoring it, because she was so happy. They were sitting outside, watching Ron teach Hermione how to capture fireflies in glass jars one night. She asked for the stars and the world, and Harry jokingly told her that he would give her anything she wanted. And she asked for his last name. He stared at her for a long moment, completely terrified. He told her yes, because he didn't know how to say anything else in English anymore. He massaged his temples, recounting that moment and wishing that social situation had allotted him any other answer, but 'yes'.

After two days of brooding about, wondering if Hermione had been the one practicing Legilimency on him, he readied to sneak into Azkaban. He masked his departure that morning with the first excuse he could imagine; he was visiting the Hogwarts grounds. They were quickly rebuilding, and even adding onto the campus, but he still went to Hogwarts, to look forlornly at the terrain. No one questioned when he wanted to see Hogwarts. And so, he left, free of any charges. Which was much, much more than could be said about the woman he was going to visit.


	4. Chapter 4

_I just got lost._

_Every river that I tried to cross,__every door I ever tried was locked._

_Oh, and I'm just waiting 'til the shine wears off._

_You might be a big fish in a little pond__ - __doesn't mean you've won,__cause along may come a bigger one._

_And you'll be lost._

_Every river that you tried to cross,__every gun you ever held went off__._

_Oh, and I'm just waiting 'til the firing's stops._

_Oh and I'm just waiting 'til the shine wears off_

* * *

**Chapter 4**

* * *

Invisible to the eye, Harry wiggled by the guard and rested against the stone wall adjacent to the door. The cell door closed behind the cloaked figure. Harry looked to the woman, once dawned in pearls and diamonds, porcelain skin and full lips. Her hair was long, more white than blonde and unkempt. Her eyes were icy blue, her skin was terribly pale and aged lines were etched across her once youthful face. She sat on the floor, her ankles chained to the ground, her cold and emaciated body was covered only by a baggy, rag-dress. She excitedly shuffled to her knobby knees and smiled, her eyes beginning to glimmer. The hood fell onto the figure's back and Draco Malfoy was revealed to his mother. He dropped the bag he was holding and leapt to her, fell to his knees and they embraced each other so strongly, it could have hurt. Narcissa began to get teary-eyed, brushed her shaking hands through Draco's hair and rubbing his back. He pulled away from her and Harry was quite sure he had never seen Draco look so sad before. Harry immediately began to regret invading the prison, but her voice broke the solidified air.

"Draco, Draco," She chastised, holding his cheeks, "You're pale, Draco. You've such an expensive appetite and pallet, but you never do eat right, do you?"

Draco shrugged to her and rose to claim his bag from the ground. He unpacked a beautiful empire dress. It had white, lace ruffles at the bottom hem that contrasted beautiful with the midnight blue of the dress. He then pulled out a small glass bottle. Narcissa seemed shocked and glanced back and forth between the bottle and Draco's face about ten times before asking,

"They didn't check you?"

"Of course they checked me, mother. I brought this soap to see to it that you looked your absolute best. They didn't like that I brought all this, but they weren't about to stop me,"

She half-smiled and told Draco, "You're too kind, Draco. You're sure it will work?"

He nodded positively, "Entirely positive,"

Another silent moment passed until he added, "Maybe Death will be so stricken by your beauty, he'll leave you be,"

Narcissa let a small laugh fall from her lips. He moved behind her with his bag and took out an exquisite silver brush with white, soft teeth. He took her long hair into his hands and began to brush through it, so kindly, gently, so content. And she seemed happy and, even comfortable. As if they did this every day, as if the wet, dark stone prison was truly a heavily decorated parlor room; as if they were about to lose nothing. Narcissa spoke to Draco, calmly,

"Do remember to get your eight hours, at any cost; you're still growing and you're not yourself when you haven't slept. I expect they'll be interviewing you for all the papers and such in a few days. And don't let us look like slobs, see to it that all of you and your belongings reflect your desires for them – you know I'd be mortified if I went through all those years of cleaning up after you, only to be slandered as a witch _and_ a house-wife!" She joked, "And you don't have to keep anything as it is, if it pains or displeases you, Draco. I know you always wanted to rearrange the living room. You're more than welcome to do that. And if you'd like, you can sleep in my bed,"

Draco tried to smile and told her, "I might like that,"

"Be kind, Draco. To strangers and to friends,"

"I don't have friends, mother," Draco told her blankly.

She frowned and replied, "Then make some, Draco. I don't want you to be alone,"

A short quiet passed until Narcissa added, "Do you hear me, Draco? I do not want you to be alone,"

"Yes, yes, mother," He responded, "Alright. I won't be alone, you've my word,"

She closed her worried eyes and allowed her shoulders and brows to relax again. She went on,

"I know you love creating potions in the basement, but please do be careful. Do you remember when you put a hole through the back shed with that explosion? Your father was furious. I wanted to laugh, Draco, but he wouldn't let me. Boys will be boys, and you, particularly, have always been a good boy. Your potions did go terribly a rye, though, sometimes," She smirked.

Harry watched Draco's absent face, his grey eyes following each smooth brush down his mother's white locks. He seemed so distant, from Harry and from his mother. From reality. She continued, smiling,

"You need to work hard for valuable things, Draco. You were born with the necessities handed to you, and you have lived a very privileged life. I wanted that for you, Draco. I wanted you to be happy and spoiled and… well, I thought in time I'd be able to teach you that all you really need is family. You need friends. I want you to work hard for those things. Those are the valuable things, Draco. Truly. They're all you really have in the end,"

Draco nodded positively, although she couldn't see it. He told her,

"Hogwarts will likely be done with reconstruction by next year. Do you think I should go back?"

She opened her eyes slowly and opened her mouth, though, nothing came out at first. Draco stood and moved to sit in front of her. When their eyes met, she couldn't help but smile and she told him,

"You absolutely should, Draco. You've nothing to truly be ashamed of. You did what you had to, to protect your family,"

Harry scowled in disagreement, but Draco just nodded again. Malfoy reached into his bag and pulled out a small black box, without looking down into his lap where it then was placed. He asked her,

"What's the last book you read, Mother?"

She tilted her head and maintained heavy eye contact, "Oh, uhm… it was a romance novel, oh… it's been so long,"

Draco made a half-interested hum, "Did you like it?"

"Yes, I suppose. It was interesting, at least. I don't know that it's your cup of tea, though, Draco,"

"No?" He asked curiously. He looked down, then and opened the box to reveal a string of pearls and a pair of pearl earrings.

Narcissa gasped and exclaimed, "Draco! You brought me my pearls? But-but, how were they not – "

"I would never allow the Ministry to confiscate your pearls," He let out a weak laugh, "If the house had been burning down, you'd have grabbed me and your pearls and then run like hell,"

She grinned at him gratefully, her eyes shimmering. She touched his cheek with her feminine hand, dusted with dirt and black residue from the stones.

"You're a sweet boy, Draco,"

He glanced away and she chased after his eyes, insisting, "Really, Draco… thank you,"

He nodded again, reaching into his pant pocket to pull out a velvet handkerchief, his initials were sewn into the black in silver cursive. With her hair silky smooth and tucked behind her ears, he was able to take grab of her earlobes and brush the cloth along them. He dabbed the cloth with the bottle of soap he'd brought and went on to touch it across her face and hands. They sat in silence as he gently and patiently massaged her hands, cleaning them of the soot and stains. Her eyes were watery when she choked out a forced laugh,

"Look at us, Draco," She began, "I used to groom you and now, I-I'm…"

Draco looked up at her from her now porcelain hands and arms,

"It's okay," He told her.

They held a gaze for a long and silent moment, and she finally took a very deep and shaky breath. Her eyes fluttered in an effort to recover from the heat of her tears, so as not to let them fall.

"Draco, I – "

"Mother, it's really okay," He interrupted.

She gripped his shoulders and told him, "No, no, Draco, I have to say this,"

He waited, wide-eyed until she was able to say, "I am so, so sorry, Draco… I am so, so, so sorry… I never meant… I just wanted you to be safe, Draco, I never wanted anything terrible to happen, Draco,"

Then Draco's eyes began to deceive him, growing glassy and hurt, and he turned his head away from her.

"I told you, it's okay,"

Narcissa leaned in closer and pulled Draco into a tight embrace. Draco's tears began to fall from over her shoulder and he gripped her. She pet her clean left hand through his tuffs of blonde, nuzzling her cheek and nose into his shoulder.

"I love you, Draco,"

His crying then became audible and the shaking of his body grew visible. He was trying very hard to keep from erupting, but replied desperately,

"I love you back, mum,"

Harry didn't know that Malfoy was capable of crying, or at all showing any human emotion. The sight was bizarre and very intimate, too much, in fact, and so Harry looked away from them. He waited until there was a silencing of Draco's crying. When he went to look at them again, she had sat down and offered him a seat in her lap, which he accepted. He was much too tall, but she didn't seem to mind. He tucked his wet face into the crook of her neck and she leaned her face against his head, holding one of his hands and using her right hand to pet the back of his neck.

"I can hear your heart from here," He said to her softly.

"There is so much I wish I could tell you, Draco, but there is so little time,"

Tears gently fell from her eyes while Draco watched her jugular pulsate against his cold nose. She told him,

"Everything I did… I-I know I royally destroyed so many things, good things, but I never meant to. Everything I did in my life, once you were in my life, Draco, everything I did, I did for you. I had these dreams of watching you get old and wise and achieve so much, but I won't get to see it and I cannot express, Draco, how… how entirely devastated I am that I have to leave you this way,"

He scrunched his eyes closed, his brows knit tightly; he shook his head negatively into her shoulder, his lips quivering.

"I am a murderer, Draco, and I am a mother and sister and aunt and a witch, a human being, but of all those titles, Draco, all I cared about was being a mother. You were all I ever wanted in this world, and I have grown prouder and prouder of you every single day. From the moment you kicked inside me, to when I first saw you open your eyes, and when you first walked to me, called me 'mum' and when you laughed," She had to catch her breath from breaking into a sob, "I am just so happy I had you, Draco. And I would change a thousand things about my life if I could, but I would never change you, Draco. I would have you a million times over, and I love you. And I want you to know how proud I am of you. You are a survivor and you're a wonderful, good boy – or, rather, young man,"

She fell silent then and he muttered into her collarbone, "I love you, mum,"

She twisted both her arms around his shoulders, turning her torso against his and gripping him like a vice; she kissed his temple and then let go. She stared lovingly at him, brushed away her tears with her thumbs and suggested, "You should finish me up, Draco. Death won't be wooed with me looking like this,"

He stared deeply into her eyes and simply replied, "Okay,"

Harry watched as Draco dressed his mother in a royal-looking empire dress, donned her in pearls and put her hair up into a braided bun. They reminisced over memories Harry thought couldn't be true – memories that described smiling and laughter and time spent loving one another. All of which, Harry was quite sure, Draco Malfoy was incapable of. As her nose turned pink and her cheeks painted a timid blush on her once paled face, she somehow became herself again. She did not look like a prisoner; she looked like Narcissa Malfoy, the beautiful, aristocratic socialite of the dark edge of the wizarding world. Her beauty was, and always had been, pointed and dangerous. Her icy blue eyes were a perfect medium to exchange emotion through; she was readable, but it was not kind. As if someone had pried open the iron bars of a tiger's cage for the first time, surely it was a beautiful sight, dangerous and intense; her eyes described such an intensity and strength that it wondered how it ever became caged. Looking at them too long might make a person believe she wanted to extract some kind of revenge. Harry struggled to see the murderous vixen the papers had been describing for all the months prior. All at once, she was sad and infuriated and inspired and loving – and loved.

Draco stepped back from her, crossing his arms and examined her like one might examine a framed work of art on a wall. He told her,

"You look wonderful,"

"Thank you, Draco,"

They stood a few feet from each other. Narcissa's naked toes curled on the ground – curling and releasing. They were dirty and wet. The only sign left that she had ever stayed a minute within the bleak walls of Azkaban.

"Mum," Draco began, "…is there a God?"

Harry paused thoughtfully. From the way the air changed in the room, Harry wondered if Draco had never asked it aloud before. Most children wonder on it, when their pet fish dies or a relative has fallen ill and death is apparent and begging explanation. Harry wondered if the children Ginny so desperately wanted with him would ask him that question. Even the thought made his heart sink, wanting so badly to believe in an awaiting paradise and to give a mourning mind peace. He admitted to himself that he did not want a child to ask him that. He didn't even want an adult to ask him. Harry had found that the topic of afterlife ruffled the feathers of far too many irrational and frightened people, unwilling to imagine differently. Harry wondered what Narcissa would tell her son, now so grown, but still so young.

She curved her brows and hugged her thin waist, "I don't know, Draco,"

He cast his eyes to the ground and explained, "I just… it's okay if you're leaving if I get to see you again, you know?"

There was another quiet. Draco cleared his throat, "On business or vacation or something… I just want to know that this isn't the last time…"

She walked over to him, giving a foot of space between them while she cupped his face in her hands,

"I don't want to lie to you, Draco. I really don't know. But I do believe that there is another place where we will see each other. I don't think anyone really knows anything about life or death, just that there is a beginning. I can't know if there is an end, Draco, but from what I have learned in the muggle world and the magical world combined, I do honestly believe it will take much, much more than death to keep a mother from her baby,"

She kissed his forehead and added, "Voldemort, Dumbledore… even Harry Potter,"

Harry's heart stopped for a split second until she continued, "…could not keep me from you. I love you, Draco,"

They hugged again and they swayed a little. Harry noticed that Draco was taller than his mother, just slightly. Draco began to part his lips, but whatever thought he wanted to share was interrupted by the cell door opening and the same guard that led Draco to the cell announced,

"Time's up. She's off to the courtroom in an hour. You're granted permission to attend,"

Draco looked over his shoulder to the guard quickly, then slowly turned back to his mother. She tugged him into her hold again and they both grabbed each other so tightly, it may have been hurting them. The two whispered last words between each other that Harry could not hear, and then the guard's hand came down onto Draco's shoulder and he politely gestured out the door. Draco nodded sadly and told his mother he loved her one last time, and with a flick of his hood, he left her. The door closed and after a single moment and a sigh, Narcissa said,

"I am glad you made it, Harry, though I admit, I didn't plan for you to see any of that,"

Harry's heart began to bang in his ears. He waited, to see if it was some kind of joke or trick, but it wasn't, of course. He removed his cloak and asked,

"How did you know I was here?"

She told him, "I am a powerful witch from a lineage of full blood, and some legendary ancestors. And you think I can't sense another wizard in a room with me? Come sit with me,"

There were a few dry spots on the ground of her cell, and she sat in one, tucking her dress as tightly to herself as she could. He sat across from her and she placed her hands in her lap,

"It certainly took you long enough, Harry," She sounded disappointed.

He scrunched his face and said, "Well, excuse me? You're being a bit familiar, Mrs. Malfoy, don't you think? For someone who's been haunting my mind, making me think I'm crazy?"

She rolled her eyes and replied, "I saved your life, you are a teenager and I am about to die. I can be as informal with you as I see fit,"

He curled his lips inwardly, regretting taking offense. He finally asked her,

"Why did you tell me to come here?"

"Well, I did save your life," She started, "I'm calling in on that favor,"

Harry tensed, unsure of what she was about to say. She paused and went on to say, "You heard me talking to Draco. I don't want him to be alone. I'm all he has had in this world. I want you to take care of him, once I'm dead,"

Harry cocked a brow and begged, "Sorry?"

"Harry… it is not often that a woman of my upbringing and wealth and age turns to a child for help," She warned, "I die tonight. I don't trust anyone else to take pity on me, but you. And you owe me a favor. It is my last request, Harry,"

Harry frowned and his eyes stared at her from behind his glasses quizzically. He sighed deeply and inquired,

"What do you expect me to do, exactly? Just walk up to 'im and say, 'I know we've always hated each other, but I've been on the look-out for a new best friend?' – what am I supposed to tell him?"

"Oh, he never hated you," She told him surely.

"He definitely hates me, Mrs. Malfoy,"

"From the deepest desires often come the deadliest hate," She quoted, "I promise, he does not hate you,"

He didn't entirely understand what it meant, but Harry felt his face get warm; he immediately suppressed the growing feeling of flattery. He insisted in the back of his mind that someone 'not hating' you wasn't entirely a compliment. Narcissa went on to say,

"I don't care what you tell him, just don't tell him it was upon my request and don't make him suspicious of you,"

"Suspicious?" Harry asked, "Of what?"

"He is the last Malfoy, and he is the last living person who knows the location of the Malfoy fortune. It is rightly his, but the Ministry is trying desperately to get it from him. They have tortured me for that information and I have not exposed its hiding place. They want to collect it and give it to the families of the people we killed. Reparations, you see. He might think you're out for the money,"

Harry shook his head and told her, "Mrs. Malfoy, Draco and I really don't get along. I really don't think this is a good idea. Even when I've tried being civil towards Draco – "

"Civil isn't what Draco needs," She cut in, looking stern and powerful, "He needs honest. He needs reliable. He needs strong and understanding and forgiving. He needs supportive and he needs reassuring. Civil won't cut it, Harry. I am not asking you to be civil to him. I am asking you to be a friend to him,"

Harry sighed miserably, looking into his lap. Narcissa touched his knee and softly said,

"Your mother sacrificed herself for you,"

He looked up into her blue eyes. He felt nervous; she looked like a captured princess, surrendered, but still strong, somehow.

"I am dying tonight for my son, too,"

Harry's heart skipped a beat.

"There was one giant difference between your mother and me. That is that I wanted to live with my son. I would not – could not – take the chance that he would be hurt without my being there to protect or save him. I could not leave him. If I had been your mother, I would have taken you with me. That might sound cruel, but I couldn't be without my baby. There are some women in this world, Harry, that are truly born to be mothers. I am one of those women. And so, I did everything I had to, to be with him. Despite all my efforts to keep him healthy, happy and beside me… I am being taken from him,"

She fell silent briefly.

"I have never shunned Draco, I have never turned him away, I have never let him go to bed feeling terrible. I know he has done bad things, Harry, but he is a good boy. Please…"

Harry's chest hurt for her and he answered, "Yeah. Alright. I can do that,"

She smiled sadly, "Thank you, Harry. Please, please, don't let him be alone again,"

He nodded and she gripped his hand.

"The greatest likeness between your mother and me is our undying love for our sons. And I think your mother would have supported this idea. It takes far more courage to love and forgive than to hate and regret. You're a Gryffindor. Show your colors for me, Harry,"

He smiled weakly and thought for a split second that he would seriously regret that exact moment.


	5. Chapter 5

Sorry for the delay! Been a bit overwhelmed at home, but here's your updates!

* * *

_When we were kids,  
I did my best to make them proud.  
It just wasn't in me,  
I could not fly straight to save my life.  
And all the while,  
the good lord smiled,  
and looked the other way._

Their big success is now their biggest failure.  
Their golden child has been dethroned.  
Their reputation is now in ruins.  
Their tower to heaven has come tumbling down.  
And all the while,  
the good lord smiles,  
and looks the other way.

* * *

**Chapter 5**

* * *

"Before us, tonight, stands convict 8001452, Narcissa Malfoy, wife to Lucius Malfoy, convict 8001450, now deceased. Narcissa Malfoy has been imprisoned in Azkaban for the last five months for two hundred and eight counts of withholding evidence, fifty-seven counts of accomplice to murder, three hundred and twelve counts of conspiracy to murder and five hundred fifty-two counts of murder in the first degree and second degree,"

Her eyes were cast away from the judge and group of elites on their pedestals.

"She has pled guilty to all charges and has provided thorough evidence and accounts that have since been documented and added to all information regarding the rise of the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord. She admits to the Ministry's court that she was one of very few followers in the Dark Lord's favor, has provided intricately detailed accounts of his crimes, crimes of fellow Death Eaters and of her own. In exchange for her cooperation, the Ministry has agreed to leave her last will and testament unaltered. The Ministry offered her four days of living on one of her estates, on a beach, chained and under supervision, before her court date. She declined and instead asked for a few hours with her only son, Draco Malfoy. Let all note that both her requests were fulfilled by the Ministry. The Head of the Ministry has informed the court that all convicted Death Eaters shall henceforth be executed; all personal belongings of convicts will be turned in for money, which will be used as reparations for the families of the accused convict's victims,"

The old, disgruntled man smacked his lips before continuing, "Despite collecting all but the Malfoy Estate, and what is left in Narcissa Malfoy's will, the Ministry has been made aware of the fact that the collection has failed to find the Malfoy fortune. Narcissa Malfoy and Lucius Malfoy both declined the opportunity to willingly give the Ministry the information to attain it. For situations such as these, the Ministry has allowed the court to perform the cruciatus curse until the court feels satisfied with all testimony given by the convict,"

The man looked down at his wrinkled hands, sighing and looking back up, "This is not a measure I would have supported, had it been in my power. The Ministry has made it quite clear to the court, however, that all convicts of Death Eater crimes must be wrung out for all information. After we have been given all information satisfying the court's necessities, Narcissa Malfoy will leave this court room, into an extermination room, where she will be put to death before witnesses that testified against her, her jury, media writers and Azkaban guards. The son she orphans tonight has a designated seat, but has declined. Do all understand?"

Harry looked around the courtroom, searching for a single rebel – a single man or woman who would raise their voice in protest. No one did. From under his invisibility cloak, he found Draco's face. His eyes were fixed on his beautiful mother, in what looked like an iron birdcage, and she too was looking right at him. Harry could tell there was a silent communication going on between them, that perhaps Narcissa was giving more parting words inside Draco's mind. Harry wanted to know, at the same time that he felt embarrassed and infuriated that he was in the courtroom at all.

"Alright. Before the interrogation begins for all unanswered questions regarding Narcissa Malfoy's activity, if she sees fit, the court offers her the opportunity to share her last words,"

The room was silent and cold. Harry felt anxious and fearful for the elderly Ministry workers – as if Narcissa could break out of the cage and slaughter the whole lot of them. She couldn't, or if she could, she wouldn't. She just appeared unbreakable. She wasn't sorry.

"Everything I have done has been in the favor of my only son. I did kill many people. It was a war and I was a soldier. I have my regrets. I have many regrets," She paused, still staring deeply into Draco's eyes,

"I only wanted to live happily. I only wanted peace and quiet, so I could listen to my son growing from the soils of magic and see him burst and bloom into a great man. A mother dragon does not know when she breathes fire onto a passerby or someone, perhaps, trying to help her. She does not care, because her purpose in life is only to protect her young. My son is all I wanted in this world. In all my life. If I had tears left, I would cry for you, if I could unlock the chains tightly separating my hands, I would plead to you. My stomach is empty, though, my eyes are sore and dried up and the weight of my lips is only outweighed by my heart," Harry began to see the sorrow filling in her face.

"I am guilty of killing hundreds of people. Maybe thousands. All for a purpose I did not believe in or support. I am guilty of protecting my child. I did what I had to do to keep him alive. To keep _us_ alive. I am all my son has in this world… if I had a chance at all, I would beg you. I would beg you to let me live, to let me run away with him and live in banishment and poverty and exile, if it meant I could be with him. The guilt of killing innocent wizards, witches, muggles… even children… that guilt simply does not surpass my love for my son. I am immensely, completely sorry… for not feeling sorry,"

She finally broke her gaze to allow her eyes to drift along the governing faces of her keepers.

"When I recall all the things that I did, said and all the crimes I committed, my soul is overcome with despair and disgust. But, then I imagine my son. He is alive, he breathes today because of all that I did. There are people born into this world that are inherently evil. People who are, just simply, despicable and merciless and unfeeling. I am not one of those people. I committed my crimes for love, not for pleasure. If I saw any other way out, I would have run away with him. I know that I have the abilities to escape this cage, to escape this room, this building…"

The judge became alarmed, sharing warning glances with his colleagues until Narcissa added,

"But I will not,"

She looked at Draco again, smiling weakly, "My son deserves so much more than to run. He has hidden for so long. He has been… such a good boy. So, I will die tonight, so he can, hopefully… live on to be happy. I hope the ghosts leave him one day. I hope he visits his past, but that he never stays too long. I hope he finds happiness and fulfillment and… I hope… I pray that this… that it was all worth it,"

Harry's eyes hadn't moved from Draco's profile. The blonde boy's eyes were watery and his mouth was tightly shut.

"I love you, Draco,"

The faces of the court turned to Draco. He meant to be very quiet, but the size of the room turned his mumble into an echo of, "I love you back, mum,"

"Is that all, Narcissa Malfoy?" The judge interjected.

She nodded positively, still engaged with Draco. The old man sighed deeply and cleared his throat,

"Well then, sit down, Mrs. Malfoy, as I read you the questions you refused to answer the last they were given to you. We'll hope you have a change of heart. If not, however, we will get our answers with what force is required,"

She seated herself, blew a kiss to Draco and laid down. The iron bar keeping her wrists apart rested on her abdomen, her dirty feet were chained loosely, and looked so thin among her lavish accessories. The image was very strange; Harry began to think he was dreaming. Harry could hear the judge reading, but was not listening to him. He heard Narcissa's voice in his mind, then.

_Thank you, Harry._

His eyes moved back to Draco. He had a strange expression on. From what Harry could tell at the distance, it was a kind of cross between anxiety and certainty.

_I should have done something… I should've tried to save her._

She was dozing. Her breathing was so slow. To Harry, though, the world may as well have been in slow motion. The devastation of the war was in the courtroom. The very feeling he had been so desperately trying to escape for months. He had the same feeling in his chest that he would have in the woods, waiting for a sign of a horcrux, a clue, something to punch or make him cry. Anxiety and mourning and anger. A feeling of war. He could not explain it, not even to himself. He realized, then, though, that the feeling of war had never left. It was not confined to only that courtroom; it was in the silence between Ginny and he. It was in Hermione's eyes on Mother's day and Father's day. It was in George's inability to sleep anymore, it was in the lines around Molly's eyes, it was in the scar on Ron's shoulder. That feeling was the lonely air between Arthur's eyes and Fred's baby pictures and it was in Draco Malfoy's steal irises. It was on the faces of Luna, Neville, Seamus and Dean; it was in the way people walked down Diagon Alley, it was in the pockets of rich men, in the soul of crying mothers. It was the soil in which they buried their dead and called it their past. But it would be there forever, it would never be past. It was not a feeling. It was a ghost that haunted them all.

He knew he did not want to be involved in the legal matters following the acts of war – he wanted to get as far away from it as he could. But there he was. He went to Azkaban, he accepted Narcissa Malfoy's dying request and he followed her to her termination. He wanted to leave so badly. He wanted so badly to wake up and find that the last eight years of his life had just been a bad dream.

It was incredible to Harry, the things a mother would do for her child. He wondered why only some mothers had that instinct, and others had the kind of emptiness to abandon their children, give them away, even abuse them. How did the universe produce women like Narcissa Malfoy, and Harry's own mother? Was martyrdom born? Or is it created? Narcissa Malfoy was not a bad person. Harry knew that upon seeing her in shackles in the oily soot of her prison. Bad things, terrible things to such good people. She chose the wrong path; she only wanted to protect someone precious to her. Someone could say the same of Harry Potter and he knew that. And that killed him more; he and Narcissa were truly not so different. All living soldiers of the war – truly, no matter what side, they were really not as different as they were lead to believe.

Suddenly, the room set into noise and movement. Harry allowed himself to sink back into reality, where guards kept yelling to the judge, "She's dead! She's dead!"

"What do you mean? What do you mean she's dead?"

Gigantic waves of anger and confusion had taken over the room, and the epicenter was the sleeping queen, pale and smiling. Harry looked back into the now pushing and piling crowd of the court, trying to find Draco's face. He was no longer in his seat, but Harry caught the glimpse of a black hood flicking over a blonde head as it rushed out the room. Harry quickly rose and followed after the orphan. He found himself outside, eventually, running behind the swift walk of Draco Malfoy. It had been raining and the night had given birth to a thick, white fog that reflected the gigantic, white, full moon.

"Malfoy!"

Remembering his state, Harry quickly whipped his cloak off as the young man turned around. He lowered his hood and Harry was able to appreciate how ghastly Draco Malfoy actually looked.

"Potter?"

Draco had tried to spit it out, make it sound as disgusting and sharp as he used to. To no avail. His weakness was showing. His glassy eyes, his pale face, the lines under his eyes and the cotton look to his skin gave him away. Harry's shoes made a last slap against the wet pavement as he halted.

"Yeah…"

Harry was suddenly a puppy chasing a squirrel; having finally caught it, he had no idea what he wanted to do.

Draco was just glaring expectantly at him, waiting.

Harry looked sheepishly at his feet, then shrugged, sighed and looked back at Draco and asked nonchalantly,

"You, uh… you wanna get a jar with me?"


	6. Chapter 6

_I said what you wanted to hear and what I wanted to say,  
so I will take it back.  
Are all the dishes intact?  
Let them be broken.  
It's easy to be easy and free,  
when it doesn't mean anything.  
You remain selfless, cold and composed._

_You've done me no favor to call and be nice._  
_Telling me I can take anything I like._  
_You don't owe me to be so polite._  
_You've done no wrong._  
_Get out of my sight._

_Come on, baby, now throw me a right to the chin._  
_Don't you stare like you never cared._  
_I know you did._

* * *

**Chapter 6**

* * *

When had life become so bizarre? Harry answered his mind, immediately, that the strangeness of his life began the moment he released a snake from its glass tank. Everything following had been bizarre and hard, for even Harry, to accept as his reality. Somehow, Harry found himself in a mostly empty bar with Draco Malfoy. It was a rainy, almost humid night, and in the bar a few cloaked men drank. No one sat together. Draco even seated himself a solid two seats away from Harry. When sitting at the bar, it was quite apparent that they were keeping a distance. Harry was twirling his wrist, his fingers spread around the belly of his small glass. He was watching the whirlpool spin, silently wishing he had thought out what he would say to Draco Malfoy, once he had the young man alone.

Draco had already gone through four, much larger drinks and was nursing a fifth. Upon leaving the courtroom, Draco had only responded to Harry's invitation by saying, "You're paying," and turning on his heel – leaving Harry the option to follow him to his bar of choice, or not. So, in silence, they had spent the following two hours together. Harry finally tried to look at Draco's face, his elbows on the bar and shoulders hitched, he tilted his head and shifted his low eyes. Draco was staring at the bar table, chewing on a bit of ice from his drink. His eyes were glazed, drunk and his face hardly wore an emotion. Draco must have felt Harry's stare, because he finally broke his silence.

"My father told me once," He began, "that all the life, in the world," His voice was raspy and low, "is bound to a single, simple truth…"

He took a swig of his drink and hissed an exhale, "That time goes on and that in each person's life begins a tale, a journey of sorts, that will either end in memory, or in legend,"

Harry and Draco hadn't moved to face each other, and Harry wondered if it was his gradually growing buzz, or Draco's newfound ability to verbalize that made him so suddenly glad to be there. The majority of his interaction with Draco Malfoy over the years included more punches and sneers, less speech. He always expected that prolonged interaction with Malfoy would be eloquent, and he was begrudgingly impressed that his heavy drinking had yet to slur his speech. His words were still sharp, they were heavy with death and regret and, though Harry expected that Draco's good mind would be deteriorating soon, he appreciated Draco's composure.

"Your parents live in legend," He said plainly. Harry's cheeks turned a bit pale, unsure of what unprovoked, cruel insult Draco might spew.

"My parents ended in memory. Only my memory. They end with me. And… I didn't even end in memory…not to anyone…"

Harry quirked a concerned brow, "Malfoy… you're not dead,"

"Really?" He asked curiously, his face exposing a half-sarcastic astonishment, "No matter,"

He quickly downed the rest of his tall drink and bit down on more ice until he was able to vocalize,

"That's easily reparable,"

Harry frowned, "Malfoy, you're not seriously talking about offing yourself, right?"

The blonde boy turned to face him, pointing a lazy finger at him on a slacking wrist, "You're an arse. Of course not, Potter. It won't be by me,"

Harry put his drink down and asked, "How far are we from your house?"

Harry didn't want to expose his concern for Draco's well being, though he couldn't place why, exactly. He felt that, due to his promise to Narcissa, he was bound to a type of guardianship. Harry knew that if he allowed Draco to go home and kill himself, Narcissa wouldn't forgive him. He wouldn't have kept his end of the deal.

"And, if I wanted, I could. And _you're_ the arse," He announced, ignoring Harry.

"I didn't call you an arse, Malfoy,"

"Fuck you,"

Harry sighed deeply, "Malfoy, you're not making much sense anymore. I'll take you home,"

He stood up and looked at the blonde, slouched figure expectantly. He had never seen Draco Malfoy looking so unkempt; he looked truly fatigued, almost ill.

"Malfoy, you really need to go home,"

Malfoy glared at Harry and spat, "I don't _need_ to do anything!"

"Well, you can't very well stay here," Harry strained.

"Oh, oh!" Malfoy scowled lazily, "Oh, I'm going to stay here. I don't want to go – I don't want to move. I don't want to leave, so just go away,"

Harry scowled back at him, shaking off the stares of the barflies and hissed out,

"Yeah? Yeah? And this – acting like a little brat in public and sleeping, sloppy drunk on a bar in a bad part of London, that's gonna make this better? That's what comforts you?"

"**Pfft**," Draco bit and said lowly as he put his head down onto his crossed arms, "_Stupid _Potter,"

His voice escaped from under his elbow; Harry heard him finish, "Nothing comforts me,"

Harry felt the sad surrender in his words. Harry scoped around the shady characters, eventually imaging too many terrible scenarios to feel angry enough to leave the drunk unattended. He frowned at Draco's tired body until Draco could feel his stare. Draco looked up to him finally and said, "I'm quite sure I'll be ill soon,"

Harry grimaced, rubbed his temples and insisted, "We should go, then. Come outside, at least,"

Draco unsteadily rose and walked ahead of Harry, pushing through the bar door, to the cobble street. He very clumsily let his weight fall to the wet curb. He pushed his hands through his blonde hair, sighing and as Harry began to sit down next to him, he stationed his elbows onto his knees. He held his forehead and told Harry,

"I'm fevered,"

"Malfoy, you're sick and drunk. Please, I'll help you get home," Harry pleaded, a bit more nicely than he had inside the bar.

Draco cringed and shook a little; he pushed his head more into his palms in frustration. He let out a sad sound and Harry spotted a crystal tear slide off his white lashes and drip from his pronounced cheek.

"No, no… don't you get it? My mother's dead," He looked up at Harry with drunken, desperate, silver eyes.

Harry caught his breath somewhere in his upper chest and his heart began to pound. It felt as if they had never met eyes before. He could see the fallen defenses, but knew it was only a temporary state of intoxication. Draco let out a shaky exhale and three more tears fell from both his eyes,

"How can I go back to that house?"

Harry stared in shock, unable to verbalize any thought; not that he had anything helpful to say. Draco's face was twisted with hurt and fury.

"How could I sleep in that house? How could I eat in that kitchen? Wash in that bath? How could I? How could I go on? How could they take her away?"

Upon his last word a dam broke from within him and tears began to spill and surge from him.

"_He needs honest. He needs reliable. He needs strong and understanding and forgiving. He needs supportive and he needs reassuring. Civil won't cut it, Harry. I am not asking you to be civil to him. I am asking you to be a friend to him," _Harry remembered.

It was not enough to take him home. It would not be enough to pay the covered his hot face in his hands and muffled his half-sobs. Harry was at a loss and wished that Draco were a personality that could communicate emotion more easily and not revert to childish fighting. If Draco had told him that he was scared to go home, Harry would have tried to be more sensitive to it. He figured that would be a conversation for another day. He slid closer to Draco, attempting to slow his pulse, and asked quietly,

"YewmindivvItushyew?"

Draco looked up with a slight hiccup, tears still streaming down his face, "W-what was that?"

Harry nervously cleared his throat, blushing a bit, "Sorry, do you… do you mind if I touch you?"

Draco's half-lidded eyes stared directly into Harry's, and Harry could see that any usual sense of self was gone from them. Draco nodded hesitantly and Harry, very cautiously, put a strong arm around Draco's shoulders. Draco looked at Harry, wide-eyed, shocked and nearly confused. Harry looked to Draco again, feeling his eyes. Their noses weren't more than two inches apart and Harry let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. A fog crossed Draco's lips from Harry's warm breath, but he didn't physically emote in response to it. He seemed too caught up in the tender, foreign behavior. A warmth rushed through Draco's body and he wished his mother were the one creating it. Draco's tired, glossy eyes lowered and he, uninvited, rested his head into the crook of Harry's neck.

"I can hear your heart from here," Draco mumbled.

Harry's face was turning more and more reddish, unused to the type of interaction he was suddenly involved in.

"Sorry," Was the only thing he could think to say in response.

Draco inquired, as if disappointed, "Why didn't you just let me die?"

Harry knew that Malfoy didn't have to elaborate. When the concept of Draco's death left his lips and traveled through the cold air, into Harry's ear, it webbed out and became a gigantic phantom. The idea became a type of figure that got hotter and hotter, red and orange and yellow and he could feel the fire snapping at his feet from under him. He could feel the sweat of Draco's chin on the nape of his neck and he could hear that last cry of Crabbe before he was engulfed by his own cursed flame. He knew Draco could feel the fire grasping for him too. He could still feel Draco's tight, restricting hold around his torso; he could feel the broom sweating under his hold. There were several deaths that Harry could remember vividly, but none quite as exactly as he could recall saving Draco Malfoy from the storming, fiery grip of judgment.

"I wouldn't've been able to live with myself, Malfoy," He answered honestly, "I can't kill people. I can't just let people die,"

Draco let out a snicker and barely whispered, "That's what people do, you buffoon. They die. Even if you save them,"

Harry's brows knit tightly and he refocused the conversation, "Where do you want to go, Malfoy?"

"I want to go home,"

Harry's buzzed fatigue wouldn't allow for his frustrations to sound through his words, though he meant them to,

"Well, that's fantastic and all, but I still don't _know_ where your home_ is_,"

"Me neither," Draco replied sleepily.


	7. Chapter 7

_You knew in five minutes - But I knew in a sentence._

_So, why do we go - through all of this again?_  
_Your eyes are flutterin' - Such pretty wings._  
_A moth, flyin' into the same old flame again._  
_It never ends._

* * *

**Chapter 7**

* * *

Harry's waking eyes slowly focused and described a foggy high ceiling and dim light. He sat up, rubbed his eyes into clarity and felt velvet beneath him. He looked around and saw he was on a small couch in a large, luxurious room with a fireplace going. Across a few feet of hardwood floor, a couch sat parallel to his and carried a sleeping blonde. Harry tried to remember what happened to him, but all he could recall was that he sat with Draco on the curb until he couldn't keep his eyes open.

_Must've fallen asleep out there… he probably apparated here…_

Just as the thought passed through his tired mind, a soft voice came forward.

"Mr. Harry Potter?"

He turned to find a house elf in what looked like tailored, tiny pajamas. He said,

"We are very glad to have you, sir,"

"We?" Harry repeated.

"Oh, yes, the rest are in the kitchen and cleaning up the guest room. Can I fetch you anything, Mr. Harry Potter? Tea, perhaps?"

Draco woke from the conversation so near him and let out a groan,

"Oh, I hate waking," He complained.

The elf nearly fell over himself to rush to Draco's side.

"Master Draco, might I help you to your room? Would you like me to fix you tea?"

"Shh," Draco ordered sleepily, tossing his limp hand over Whim's pointy face and letting it lazily slide down his pointed nose, "Shh, I was very drunk last night, Whim, I've an awful head ache,"

"Oh!" Whim immediately let his voice fall soft, "I understand, Master Draco. Can I help you at all?"

Draco threw his long legs over the side of the couch and looked at Harry.

"_You're_ here,"

Harry nodded, "Apparently,"

"Why are _you_ here?"

Harry gave an exhausted sigh and told Draco, "I really don't know. I think we were both a bit tipsy last night. I'm pretty sure you took us here when I fell asleep outside the bar,"

"_You _were with me last night?" Draco asked skeptically.

"Yes!" Harry started in aggravation, "Yes, I was with you. You don't remember?"

Draco shrugged and stated blandly, "Well, you're certainly the most bizarre guest I've ever drunkenly brought home with me,"

Harry glared at him and Draco let out an exasperated breath, "Whim,"

The elf look to him with hopeful eyes and Draco told him, "Would you fix breakfast for us?"

Harry couldn't help but focus on Draco's inclusion of him; the gesture was uncharacteristically thoughtful. The blonde looked at him and inquired,

"Any allergies? Preferences?"

"Uhm, no allergies…just scrambled eggs and coffee, I suppose," Harry answered.

Draco made some kind of disgusted snort and told him, "You're absolutely not having coffee, that's absurd,"

"Coffee? No," Harry argued, "You're supposed to have coffee after that kind of drinking. It helps the –"

"Shush," Draco interrupted, "No, you get a hangover from being dehydrated. You need water and orange juice, and fried eggs,"

Harry sighed and looked away, "So, my allergies and preferences really didn't matter, then,"

"No, no, they didn't," Draco replied honestly.

Harry watched Draco turn to Whim again and order, "Morning-After Breakfast for two, then, Whim,"

The elf nodded and practically skipped off into the kitchen, which was behind two swinging doors at the far end of the room. Harry scowled at Draco, catching him by surprise.

"It's pretty messed up that you've still got these _slaves_,"

Draco simpered and said confidently, "They adore the work and they adore me,"

"You're really a piece of work, Malfoy,"


	8. Chapter 8

**BEWARE: THERE IS SOME SMUT AHEAD. SEXY WARNING. THIS IS A WARNING OF THE ONCOMING SEXY. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. SEXILY.**

* * *

_We're in a mess, baby, we're in a mess, babe._  
_Your more is less, babe._

_We're under the sheets and you're killin; me._  
_In our house made of paper, and you're words all over me._  
_We're under the sheets and you're killin' me._  
_I've seen you in a fight you lost._  
_Like all the boys before, like all the boys before._

* * *

**Chapter 8**

* * *

Hermione woke with mussed hair, white in the moonlight pouring onto her from the window in Ginny's room. Her eyelids weren't heavy with fatigue, though she must've only gotten an hour or so into sleep before waking. Ginny had not come out of her room all that day, but when Hermione attempted to speak to her about it, she brushed Hermione off. The brunette rose silently out of her bed and left the room, tip-toeing across the hall to Ron's room. She knew he would be alone, since Harry had left earlier that day. She peered over the now ajar door to see Ron's sleeping figure. She smiled innocently and admired his arms from her view. The moonlight pooling into his room high-lighted all the definition in his chest and arms and she couldn't help but blush. His lips were thick, for a boy's, and his fingers were callused like Harry's. His freckles were something cute at first, but she now was enamored with them. She loved his red hair, his blue eyes, his adam's apple and the worn look on his knuckles from years of housework. She opened the door a little more and the slight creak woke Ron from his light sleep. He squinted his eyes at the door and asked in a rusty, tired voice,

"Harry?"

She shook her head a little and he rubbed his eyes to clarity.

"Oh," He started, "'Mione. What you doing here?"

She shrugged and opened her mouth to explain, but nothing came out.

At first.

A very serious air entered the room and he sat up, holding his gaze with her.

"Ron, am… am I unattractive to you?"

His face turned red and he immediately answered, "No! No! What?"

She hushed him and he lowered his voice as she closed the door, "What are you on about?"

She crossed her arms and looked to her feet, "I just… you've been treating me kindly, Ron, and I've absolutely loved it… but, you haven't…"

His creased brows released then, and realization dawned on his face.

"You don't think I wanna have sex with you?"

She felt a burning heat fill up her entire body and she heard him let out a laugh. She looked up, then and watched him stand.

"You must be mental, Hermione. I didn't want to scare or rush you or anything. I know that's not the type of thing to just ask for,"

She couldn't form any response and he could tell.

"Do you want me to not hold back that much? I can do that, Herm, if you don't want me to hide those feelings,"

She was becoming so fixated on his body shape that she had to look away again and she answered,

"I'm scared too and all, and if you're not, it's okay, but I want you to know that I'm… I'm ready. I'm ready to share myself,"

She raised her eyes to find him upon her, suddenly. She was pressed against his closed door, his hands rubbing all over her figure and his hot tongue in the crook of her neck. She let out a cross of a gasp and an approving moan. She felt his teeth brush against her skin in a smile, but it was a different kind of smile. The type of smile a lion might make when he's caught an animal he's been preying on for days. She was feeling the Gryffindor in him; the danger and prowess that he hid, to be a gentleman. She gasped when she felt his big hands on her chest, but he silenced her with his lips. She wrapped her arms around his neck, encouraging his hands while they pet her stomach, her sides, her breasts, her hips and rear. His thumbs would lightly brush by her pubic bone, but he was very obviously stopping himself. He tore away from her, red-faced and out of breath and looked at her sternly. She could see something primitive in his eyes and an intense battle going on within him.

Her shaky start of a voice cut off when he pressed his hips against her. He let out a soft moan upon the moment their hips met. She loved the sense of control over him; she had no idea he had felt so strongly attracted to her. That she might be able to elicit those kinds of noises from him was a thought that had never crossed her mind before. He picked her up, then and she let out a squeak as she found herself thrown over his broad shoulder. He dropped her onto his bed and climbed on top of her, continuing to kiss her and letting out small noises every time their hips ground together. She felt herself letting her own sounds of appreciation slipping out and she found her hands unable to stay away from his body. They continued like that for an hour, petting and rubbing and grinding and kissing; Ron eventually created a little wet mark on her underwear with his index and middle finger. He would not trespass through the cotton, though, without a clear sign of permission. And she could feel that from his body, without either having to say a word. In the heat of his body and bed, they had both removed their shirts and her pajama pants were hanging low on her pelvic bone. His hand was rubbing against her, begging for admission. She unstuck herself from him for a brief moment and huffed out,

"A-are you sure you don't want me to take care of you first?"

He smirked at her and his bedroom eyes glistened with purpose. He let his cheek meet hers and whispered in her ear,

"I want this,"

Her heart skipped a beat. His voice was so rough; so masculine and strong in a way she'd never heard him before.

"I want you so badly, Hermione," He picked his head up and held himself over her, meeting eyes, "You've no idea what you put me through all these years. I'm a normal boy, Hermione. I read dirty stuff, watched dirty stuff, all that, but there's only one girl I ever wanted to see,"

She turned an even darker shade of red, if that was at all possible. He kissed the corner of her lips,

"Only one girl I've ever wanted to feel," He continued, sliding his hand through the front of her underwear. She let out a small gasp before he added, "Only one I've ever wanted to taste,"

"_Unh_," Her eyes fluttered and she shook a little as his middle finger slid inside her.

A fine pleasure washed over her and relaxed her eyes, half-lidding them. He smiled at her knowingly,

"Your body is the only one I thought about,"

He kissed her already kiss-swollen lips gently and told her, "I always had to imagine it, but I'm gonna see it now,"

She felt warm chills and a twitch of her legs as his thumb brushed the inner hood of her wet lips.

"I'm gonna feel you on my mouth," He told her, a fire in his breath, "I'm gonna taste you,"

She let out a whimper as he slowly released his wet finger from her. He brought it to the space between their faces and she was able to tell that he was infatuated with how moist she'd become. He tucked his lips around his finger, swirling his tongue around it. She felt her heart rate rising while she watched the lust and joy fill his face. He told her, "I want to make you cum, Hermione,"

Her lips parted widely, unable to form a coherent thought. His pupils were dilated like a shark's and she no longer saw the clumsy redheaded dummy she used to see. She saw a man, out of control of his own desires for having silenced them for so long.

"So, Hermione… of course I want to cum. But nothing can be done to me… that brings me the kind of pleasure that doing this to you brings me…"

Before she knew it, he had sunken down between her legs, removing her pajama pants. She was lying beneath his hands that traveled along her stomach, donning only her panties that undoubtedly revealed her own desires. He pressed his lips against the small wet patch and breathed in deeply. The sensation of the warm, rushing air and the knowledge that it was Ron's lungs filling with her scent made her shake. She could feel how warm and soft his mouth felt on her, and then he nuzzled his freckled cheek against it. He was smiling, simply admiring and the knowledge that he was enjoying her pleasure so deeply and genuinely drove her crazy; in a very good way. He planted a soft kiss on her and then gradually hooked his callused fingers around the sides of panties; the fabric could not have seemed more useless against his oversized hands. She was unaware of how wet she had become until he, essentially, had to peel them off her. His red hair swept across her hips like feathers and the sensation kept her trembling under him. His body heat was suddenly so apparent; he was a blazing fire between her legs. She became entranced with the shadows inside the indents of his back; his arms, his shoulders and torso were so strong, but he, himself, was so gentle. He was breathing deeply and she couldn't help the shallow breaths of her own. He was so put together and she was so nervous. He looked up to her, his lips hovering over her warm flesh. He opened his mouth and said,

_**WUHHNNNN**_

_**WUHHNNNN**_

_**WUHHNNNN**_

Hermione woke with a jolt to Ginny's alarm clock; her face was flushed, her heart was still pounding and her panties felt entirely too warm and moist. When Ginny's eyes focused onto Hermione's face, she must have read her mind, because she smirked and told her,

"If you just tell him, I'm sure – "

"No!" Hermione squeaked; and she went to hide under her bed covers from her embarrassment.


	9. Chapter 9

_Will you never let me be?  
Will you never set me free?  
The ties that bound us,  
Are still around us.  
There's no escape that I can see,  
And still those little things remain,  
That bring me happiness or pain._

* * *

**Chapter 9**

* * *

The night was full of diamonds and spotting Draco Malfoy in the populated streets of London, waiting for him, made Harry's stomach twist in a strange way. Shadows were playing around on the cobble and concrete and stores and restaurants were glowing warm lights. He immediately felt underdressed when he saw Draco. He wasn't, as they were both wearing collared shirts and vests with dress pants; Harry shamefully realized it was that Draco himself was so regal, it didn't matter what he wore. He would always outshine Harry. Harry was wearing his converse and kept hoping to himself that Draco wouldn't notice it; he didn't want to be in the uncomfortable dress shoes again. He had Draco's wand in his back pocket and he kept feeling chills around that side of his body. He began thinking that the wand wanted to be reunited with Draco just as badly as Draco wanted to be reunited with it.

The blonde looked up quickly and met Harry's eyes from across the street. There was a glimmer in his silvery eyes, and Harry congratulated himself for actually meeting up with him. To his surprise, Draco did not wait for him, but fiddled with the cuff of his left sleeve and went over to him. Draco gave him a nod and asked,

"You've brought it…?"

Harry nodded, "Yeah. I've got it,"

Draco glanced around and then gave a sigh, "Alright. You like Italian food, don't you?"

"Uhm, yeah," Harry gave another nod.

"Seeing as most of your diet has been starch and carbs, I figured that was a safe assumption. Follow me," Draco told him.

Harry felt his nerves tickling everywhere and he was a cross of uncomfortable and giddy. He followed Draco down the block, walking a bit behind him. Harry and he came to a stop outside the building; two stories, gigantic windows letting in the London sunset and letting out the image of upper class beauties socializing. The line from the entrance went half way down the block, but Malfoy didn't seem troubled at all. He walked to the front of the line and told a man in a fine suit that he'd made reservations for two. The man gave Harry a strange look; his messy hair and sneakers must have been drawing stares. Draco perked a brow at the man until he shrugged and led them inside. They sat across from each other, sipping at tall glasses of ice water, not yet looking at their menus. Their booth was rather secluded and the conversation felt very private despite the restaurant looking over populated.

"Potter,"

Harry snapped his eyes to Draco's and the blonde gave a small smirk,

"Getting overwhelmed by the glamour?"

Harry shook his head, but Draco didn't seem to actually have been looking for a response.

"Well, don't get too wrapped up in it. It's substandard décor in here – at best. I'll show you real quality some time,"

Harry opened his mouth to ask about when, exactly, that some time would be. Draco didn't seem to have noticed those words had even left his lips before he looked down at his menu and asked,

"Have you ever taken a carriage ride around London before?"

Harry finally found his voice somewhere in the back of his throat and cleared it, while pushing the bridge of his glasses up a bit.

"Oh, uhm… no, actually. Dursley's weren't exactly about family-bonding experiences. At least, not with me,"

"The wizard-hating hillbillies that raised you, I take it?"

As the waiter approached, Harry managed to ask, "How do you know about – " before being interrupted with a "greetings, gentlemen" and "here are our specials tonight" and "Drinks?"

Draco didn't hesitate ordering for the both of them, a pomegranate wine. The waiter left them to pick their meals, but Harry still had questions. Though, he was momentarily distracted.

"Malfoy – we were so hung over this morning – I can't possibly – "

"Oh, calm down, Potter. It's a very light wine and one glass won't kill you,"

Harry quieted his oncoming argument that his liver was likely half the size it had been three days before. Instead, he washed his mind of that and focused on Draco's half question from before.

"How do you know about the Dursley's?"

Draco looked up at Harry in a way that said 'Do you know who you are talking to?' and Harry didn't exactly know how to respond to it.

"I read the paper as much as the next bloke,"

"Those interviews weren't exactly big stories, Malfoy," Harry said lowly.

The blonde flicked some hair from twining in his long lashes and huffed. He tried hard to look entirely bored and finally explained, "Pansy used to read all that junk. She never let a day go by without telling me what new Harry Potter trivia she had gained from Skeeter,"

Harry somehow doubted the validity of Draco's story, but didn't want to press the issue. Malfoy's silver eyes looked up from under his lashes in an almost innocent way and the look made Harry's organs squirm around.

"Were they really very bad?"

Harry quirked a brow and gave a slanted smile, "The Dursley's?"

"Yeah," Draco answered.

Harry laughed out, "They're the worst!"

Harry wanted to keep on laughing, but the waiter arrived with their wine and they both ordered politely. When the waiter disappeared again, Draco cleared his throat and Harry looked up from his empty glass to Draco's uneasy face. Draco sighed and looked up at Harry, as if it were a thing hard to do. Draco certainly didn't want to know his inner struggle was painted on his face, but he could feel it showing.

"There's a reason I wanted you here tonight,"

"Yes, I've got it. I figured we'd wait til we were – "

"No," Draco waved him off, "No, I mean. Yes, that too. There is a matter a touch more pressing, though,"

Harry let his shoulders slack and nodded to show that he was ready for Draco to share. His spidery hand pushed through his platinum hair and he connected his eyes to Harry's again. Draco was taken briefly, with the shine on Harry's glasses.

_Merlin, those things are stupid._

Within Draco was still a child, who spurted that out, but meant to say that he begrudgingly thought Harry looked handsome. Harry watched a bump slide down Draco's throat and he finally spoke again.

"I'd like to make an alliance with you, Potter,"

Harry was nonplussed, and so Draco explained,

"I know we have been on opposite sides, I know we have opposed one another, but I would… very much like the opportunity to mend those, uhm, maladies,"

Harry felt bizarrely flattered and inexplicably excited. He nodded vigorously and finally said, "Yeah! Yeah, that'd be… that's good. Yeah. I'd like that,"

Draco gave a small smile and replied, "Good," He reached out his hand.

Harry immediately recognized it. His fingers were still a pale pink; the lines on his palm had not changed at all. His nails were clean, his skin bore no marks and the hand's posture was identical to the last Harry had seen it. Harry could've sworn he was eleven years old again, looking up at the daunting, elegant Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy was untouchably powerful, even in his walk and stare and the spaces between his digits. He was intimidating, in a way. In such a way that Harry felt an indescribable and baffling desire to impress him and gain his affection. Harry had seen this feeling, in movies and books that the Muggles created; usually girls, though, struggling to fit in felt this pressure. Harry did not identify with them. It was something entirely different. Draco Malfoy was something entirely different.

No popularity-crazed cheerleader could compare to the regal and ambitious Draco Malfoy. They were not to be compared, not fairly. Harry couldn't help the feeling of being a pauper noticed by a prince. A smile spread across his face, looking at the offering hand. Draco was like a trained, prize dog. His hand was so pristine, and the gesture was so practiced that Harry lost himself in time. Harry took Draco's hand, and for a singular flash, the both of them felt fire. Sweat and fire and ash and fear. Before Harry could exactly tell what had happened, he was no longer touching Draco Malfoy's hand. There was a small moment of silence, and Harry was shocked to hear Draco ask,

"So, did you actually live in a cupboard?"

Harry laughed a little and leaned in comfortably to the table, resting on his forearms.

"Yeah, I did,"

Draco made a noise of disgust; Harry could tell it was not for him, but for his adoptive family. It warmed Harry's chest to feel himself off Draco's Black List.

"Not just a rumor? That's absurd. How in the world did you fit in there?"

Harry laughed again and replied, "Well, I'm only this tall now,"

"Obviously!" Draco snickered, "Which isn't very tall, mind you,"

"Hey!" Harry scowled playfully, but Draco didn't bother to apologize for his friendly jab.

"But I mean," Draco continued, "was this a cupboard, like one in a kitchen?"

"Oh, no!" Harry answered, "No, no! It's a crawlspace bit – you know, it was under the house's staircase. It fit a bed. That's about all,"

Draco looked suddenly satisfied, "I knew it. Rumors get spread so wide, you can't tell how distorted they are. Some third year once told me that you were forced to hold all the teacups at night, while you slept above the Muggles' kitchen counters,"

Harry could hardly believe he was laughing. He was genuinely enjoying himself around Draco Malfoy. The once vile and cruel and brainwashed Draco Malfoy. More than that, Harry was enjoying himself for the first time in a long, long time. Genuinely enjoying himself; no secondhand happiness. There was a short quiet that passed over them. Draco still seemed sad and somewhat insecure. Harry managed to ask,

"So, are you doing okay?"

"As well as I can be. The silver lining, I suppose, is that it wasn't sudden. I got to say goodbye and all, I had time to prepare. Though, I don't believe there is any way to truly prepare for a loved one's death," Draco replied.

Harry nodded solemnly and concentrated on the music softly floating through the air.

"I have to say, I was shocked to see that Saint Potter hadn't tried to intervene in the executions,"

Harry frowned and sighed.

"It's not that I didn't try. I actually had quite the fallout with the ministry a month ago. I kept writing and offering my word in as a witness for the defenses, but..." He rubbed the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes, "They tried to pay me off,"

"Pay you off?" Draco asked.

"They offered me 'financial reward for aiding in the pursuit of justice', which means that they would pay me a heap of money to step out of their way,"

"Did you take it?"

"Gods, no! Course not! It's not as if I were trying to help the Death Eaters just for some kicks or recognition - I've had enough of that, thanks. It's insulting, really, that they'd try to pay me out of their way. In any case, they didn't hesitate to bring up my crimes during the war, whether it was for the good of the world or not, were still crimes. Theivary and breaking and entering, oh, and about five others that are absolute bollocks, but the point is, I'll be on trial if I get in their way. I spoke about it with Molly, uhm - Mrs. Weasley,"

Draco snorted, unimpressed, but Harry continued, "She's a mother to me. She begged me not to get wrapped up like that. Being with her daughter and all... she just begged me to cease for the time being, let some things cool and then... do my best to bring a stop to it,"

"I suppose that's a mature decision. I thought you might be scared, if I didn't know better," Draco teased.

Harry let a smile begin to show again, "Not scared, Malfoy. When it came to the war, it was so clear, what is good and what is bad and who to help and all... after the war, the world's not split into two sides anymore. It's like, this weird grey area. I guess, I'm just not sure what's right and wrong anymore,"

"That's alright," Draco comforted. Harry paused in amazement at the hint of sweetness in Draco's tone. "It's okay to be unsure. You'll figure yourself out. Just needs time,"

Harry's eyes began to twinkle in a way that forced Draco's heart to lurch and bounce. Harry smiled and mentioned shyly,

"I like this,"

The blonde's heart boomed uncharacteristically loudly in his ears and he had to work hard to keep an aloof composure.

"Hmm?"

"This song," Harry offered.

Draco's blood cooled for a little before he quirked a brow, "You don't know this song?"

"Should I?"

Draco let out a disbelieving chuckle, "Billie Holiday is one of the most famous singers in history,"

Harry looked doubtful, which made Draco sigh and go on, "She's right up there with Elvis Presley. The Beatles, Queen, The Rolling Stones, David Bowie… any of this ringing a bell?"

"I know a few of those names," Harry admitted, "But, I don't think I've heard any of their music,"

Draco rolled his shining eyes, "Yes, well, that is easily reparable,"

Draco went on to ask more about life with the Dursley's. Harry was eager to share; Harry hadn't even realized how much he had missed the semi-normal conversations about his life. Now, whenever someone spoke to him, it was gratitude for saving the world, being a hero, making history – things he honestly didn't know about. Draco Malfoy would never give Harry that kind of graciousness. Draco would look down that pointed nose no matter what Harry did with his life. And Harry found himself endlessly grateful for that. Draco disclosed little about his life in turn, but Harry decided not to ask too much. Harry thought the interaction was going so well, he didn't want to spoil it by prying too much. Draco did not ask anything of consequence, either. He asked things about muggle school, the details of his adoption into the Dursley family and if he cared for his choice of wine. Harry was grinning the entire while; he was schmoozing. He felt honored in a strange and new way.

"I'd like another glass, actually," Harry announced.

Draco popped the bottle open again and gave a suggestive smirk as he poured,

"You're welcome to have as much as you like. I've decided tonight will be a treat from me, to you, in celebration of our newfound alliance. But be careful, Potter,"

Harry looked up from under the shadow of his unkempt hair, into sparkling silver. He couldn't exactly tell why he was so nervous. Draco's heart was fluttering around with pride and something like a growing feeling of care.

"Beware the third glass,"

"Why?" Harry breathed out.

Draco's smirk became brighter, "First glass makes you friendly,"

He finished filling Harry's glass, and so took the bottle away. He put the cork back in and went on,

"Second glass makes you daring,"

He pushed the bottle away, to the corner of the table that was against the wall. He pressed his index and middle finger at the base of Harry's wine glass, around the stem and slid it in front of the boy.

"Third glass makes you fall in love,"

Harry blushed and Draco gave a taunting wink, "And I certainly can't have The Boy Who Lived falling madly in love with me - imagine the tabloids! Heartless Death Eaters' Child Breaks Saint Potter's Fragile Golden Heart!"

Harry smirked back at him, taking the glass in his hand, and replying in a laugh,

"Not likely, Malfoy. But good try,"

They shared a smile that could have almost been called flirtatious. That feeling of suddenly being so glad to be with someone at one certain moment in time and space came over both of them. Harry couldn't help but notice the pink lightly revealing itself under Draco's eyes, on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. He knew Draco wasn't drunk, and very nearly thought that Draco might be flattered and joyful the way Harry was. Nearly – because Draco Malfoy needed no such validation from anyone.

_Then again_, Harry thought to himself, _I suppose my 'alliance' couldn't hurt his ego._

Not that Draco's ego needed to get any larger than it was already.

_Maybe he is actually enjoying me_, Harry finally let himself think.

Maybe.


	10. Chapter 10

**EXPLICIT SEX SCENE AHEAD.**

* * *

_Well, the fish swam out of the ocean,_  
_And grew legs and they started walking._  
_And the apes climbed down from the trees,_  
_And grew tall and they started talking._

_And the stars fell out of the sky,_  
_And the tears rolled into the ocean,_  
_And now I'm looking for a reason why,_  
_You even set my world into motion._

_'Cause if you're not really here,_  
_Then the stars don't even matter._  
_Now I'm filled to the top with fear,_  
_But it's all just a bunch of matter._

_'Cause if you're not really here,_  
_Then I don't want to be either._  
_I wanna be next to you._

* * *

**Chapter 10**

* * *

Ginny approached Hermione slowly, as she tended to be easily frightened when wrapped up in a book. The fireplace was crackling and it was strangely cold for a summer evening. Ron was asleep in her lap and she was unconsciously petting through his hair, occasionally twirling a lock of his red hair. She was warm under a blanket, her legs curled up next to her and on the arm of the couch that she was seated next to, Crookshanks was curled up and sleeping. The scene was so peaceful and cozy that Ginny could swear she heard music playing. She cleared her throat gently to get the brunette's attention and succeeded.

"Oh, yes?" She whispered, turning over the back of the couch to meet Ginny's stare.

"Uhm, did Harry say when he'd be back tonight?"

Hermione's mouth slanted in disappointment, "Sorry, no. He's been so strange lately. Sleeping so late and hardly around. I think it's depressing Ron. He wants to be coddled until he leaves for work,"

Ginny nodded in understanding but was feeling a spike of anger in her gut. She wasn't entirely sympathetic for Ron as she left the room to go to bed. She was being consumed with self pity, not that she was aware of it. She kept thinking that Harry should be wanting to coddle her – his fiancée! She wanted him to lust after her, to pine for her, but she felt entirely left out to dry. He barely gave her second glances and was always hesitant to reciprocate kisses or hugs or holding hands. Seeing as Ron had not initiated any sex life with Hermione, yet, Ginny could sigh and believe that perhaps Harry was, in fact, still too war-headed to feel lustful. How long does it take an eighteen year old boy to become lustful, though? She doubted his attractions, but rather than sad, it only angered her. She was doing all she could to draw his eyes; tiny jean shorts, loose-fitting tops and sometimes even insinuating or out-right telling him to come ravish her at night. Nothing seemed to work, though.

As she lay in bed, her feminine and small hands curled into fists and her brows turned inward. The house was quiet and everyone was minding their own privacy, and any normal boy would be busting just to grope and kiss. In the Weasley house, quiet nights were not common and were usually celebrated, intimately and privately. She knew that Fred and George were always up to something strange down the hall on those rare nights. Probably plotting horrid pranks and such, but they could always be heard giggling. Percy would be up to studies, of course. Ginny didn't remember Bill or Charlie's habits exactly, but when they visited, if they caught a night like that, they tended to sit out on the porch and watch stars and drink into the wee hours. Ron cuddled up on Hermione's lap in the livingroom, and she – she was so aloof! She was so indifferent! Completely interested in her book, just twirling Ron's hair and waiting for him to say that he wants her. She was far more patient than Ginny was. Ginny was known to be hot headed and had a quick, Irish temper. She felt her patience for Harry slowly slipping away, and what was growing nearer was a feeling of resentment born from confusion.

She fell asleep to a dreamless night.

* * *

"Ron," Hermione nudged lightly.

She smiled down at him as his eyes very reluctantly opened. He smiled back at her as he came back to his senses. His cheeks were rosy and seemed like they had extra freckles. He was somehow even cuter than when he had fallen asleep. The fire was dwindling and cracking about, but out the window, the sky was black and star-filled.

"It's about one in the morning. We should go to bed,"

He didn't seem to agree, because the next moment he was kissing her. She melted into his touch and affection and felt the now familiar sensation of her entire body tingling at once. They maneuvered themselves eventually, so that Hermione was lying beneath Ron and the red hair falling from the top of his head twined with her thick bangs. She pressed her chest against him by arching her back just slightly and she was rewarded with a tired moan of approval. The sound was making her head swim – she wanted more of it and her body was suddenly ticklish and sensitive with the daydreams of Ron's body and abilities. He was moving against her slightly, just enough to elicit notice. She wormed her body gently against his in turn and she heard him breathe in sharply through his nose. It was a good noise. A nervous but excited noise. His kisses very immediately became more starved and his tongue delve deeper. She responded encouragingly and she soon felt his strong, callused hand leaving a trail of heat down her side, atop her stomach and his fingers slipped underneath her pajama pants. She was not in control when she broke their kiss and gasped loudly, though he had not yet touched her.

He retracted his hand instantly and she wanted to apologize. They were both staring into shocked eyes and Ron stammered,

"I-I'm sorry, Mione, if you don't want – "

"No! That's not – no, it's just new, so I just – I mean, I haven't – I just… "

They fell into a comfortable quiet, caught up in their gaze and their mutual nervousness finally showing. She watched his freckled neck swallow a gulp and he asked her, kindly and gently,

"Hermione, is it okay if I touch you?"

She blushed and felt a magic she had never read about or heard of. It was as if the request was a secret spell only Ron had ever known, and if said in that so specific tone, under the specific circumstances, it could unwind her from the inside. Instead of being the strong and confident woman oozing sexuality that she imagined herself to be in her dreams, his words left her a puddle of admiration. She so desperately wanted him to, she could hardly get a response out at all. She just nodded quickly, her eyes sliding halfway closed. He smiled graciously, leaning down to her as his fingers found their place again, by the waist band of her cotton and oversized pants. She gasped again, but it was much more gentle and assuring. His face disappeared next to her, their cheeks brushing and she closed her eyes as he murmured to her,

"Don't worry. You'll like it, and if you somehow don't, you tell me to stop. Okay?"

She nodded again, and when she did, his hand slid lower and into her underwear. She always imagined being so prepared for the moment they began their more intimate interactions. She always imagined wearing something revealing and sexy underneath ordinary clothes, to surprise him. But rather than a lacy piece, she was wearing light blue cotton panties and was rather embarrassed about it. She couldn't dwell on the embarrassment for long, because she soon felt his middle finger grazing across her outer lips. Her teeth came out to bite her bottom lip, but they had no steady grip and her lip simply popped out from beneath her pearly whites, wet and rosy with a sudden blood rush. She was shaking slightly, but she could tell that Ron was working very hard to keep steady too, and that comforted her. He parted her outer lips and slid his finger up and down. She made a small mewl and his heart pace doubled. He nuzzled his head into the crook of her warm neck and kissed her. Her fingers curled around his upper arms and she admired his tough strength while wondering how a single, simple touch could create such wild sensations. She concluded that it was not the actions alone, but the person who made them. Her sensitivity was growing and his finger was becoming slicker as the hot moments passed. He was making small circles on her inner lips, sliding up and down and she was reduced to a pile of quivers and gasps. The tip of his middle finger worked into the upper hood of her lips and found her clitoris. Her nails dug into his arms, but didn't seem to faze him. His full lips were against her ear, whispering,

"Does that feel good?"

She felt her face turning red and the ends of her fingers and toes turning numb. She nodded again, and used every sane fiber left in her body to form the word, "Yes,"

She felt Ron's smile and waves of tingles ran along her sides and spine. He replied, "Good," and began rubbing again. She squirmed involuntarily under him, sewing her lips shut to keep from making noise, as she couldn't tell if she would be able to control the volume of her voice or not. Slippery wet by then, Ron's finger ran down her again, and then slid into her. Her hands jumped to his neck and he rose his face over hers. He searched her eyes for hesitance or disturbance, and when he only found shocked pleasure, he smiled and leaned down to kiss her. She kissed him as sweetly as she could, trying to illustrate the incredulous pleasure, trying to thank him and praise him and beg him to not stop all at once. His mind was far too foggy to receive all of those messages, but the one he could hear loud and clear was 'I like this'. So, he wouldn't stop for anything. He kept his lips on hers to help keep her quiet as his finger slid in and out of her, twirled experimentally and he would occasionally remove the finger completely to rub her clitoris again. She was caught off guard when he gripped her sides, broke their kiss and sat her upright. He was on the floor, in front of her, dragging her pajamas off. He took a long look in her eyes and she saw that mischievous twinkle that was so often in the twins' eyes. His hands gripped her ankles and pulled her down, so that she was slumped against the couch.

She wanted to be humiliated that she was bare before him and exposed, but she wasn't. In fact, she felt safe and quiet comfortable in her skin. His palms propped up her thighs and helped hold them a bit apart. He leaned forward, weight on his knees and his mouth readily opened against her lips. She gripped the cushions of the couch and bit her lips closed. Her eyes were tightly shut and head tilted back, but she did shoot forward when his tongue rubbed the inner hood of her lips and pet her clit. Her hands flew to his hair and he moaned against her in approval. She felt a growing sensitivity everywhere; her legs were shaking, her hands could not uncurl, her heart was racing and everything felt unwrapped and revealed. She felt a finger slide into her again while the rest of her vulva was covered with a hot, wet tongue. While he moved his finger in and out, slowly at first, his tongue slid up and down, wiggling against her clit and she couldn't help thrashing. Her toes were curling in and out and she felt a sudden growth of pleasure in abdomen. Whatever was happening, it felt fantastic and she was losing any feelings of shame. His finger began smacking harder against her, and the flesh meeting flesh made a wet noise, but it only turned Hermione on more. She didn't know that it was driving Ron entirely insane; it was more than being turned on for him. He was fighting every single animal instinct to throw her down and shove himself into her. He knew he would face that kind of desire, and he had a ready mind. He would not force anything upon her. Didn't mean he didn't want to be inside her; he wanted her to want it too. He tried to concentrate on her pleasure rather than the desire for more of his own. Patience was not one of his finely tuned skills, but he certainly was trying.

Her grip in his hair tightened and she made a soft moan and whispered, "Ron,"

He smiled against her, but wouldn't stop. She threw her head back, opening her eyes and looking down to him. She wondered when she had started to sweat and if she smelled; she found again, that if she did, she didn't care.

"Ron," She moaned again; a sudden gasp came from her and she breathed out again, "Ron!"

His sensory assault on her only intensified and waves began to wash over her. She could feel that peak of pleasure coming on, the one that she knew she had read about and heard about. It was far stronger than she knew it could be and bliss enveloped her rather suddenly. Her legs involuntarily wrapped around his head, her back arched and she felt warm tears fall down her cheeks. She felt dazed and overcome with euphoria. She felt a few jolts of the waves, until it slowly calmed and she was almost uncomfortably sensitive everywhere. Her legs slacked, twitching a bit and her whole body relaxed in a way she had never felt it relax before.

She felt chills up her spine and her sides and arms. It made her giggle a little and she met Ron's eyes as he sat on his heels. He was smirking at her and his eyes sparkled with delight. She smiled to him and asked,

"Where did you learn that?"

Ron shrugged and replied, "I like reading too, Mione. Just not what you read,"

She giggled again and let herself fall onto him. She kissed him lovingly, not minding the tangy taste of herself on him. She found she loved the sensation of the warm air on her nude skin and she loved the sensation of Ron's knee, through his jeans, between her legs. Hermione didn't know how far she was willing to take the ride she was on, but the decision was made for the both of them when they heard the front door of the Burrow unlock and open. The scramble for her clothes a touch embarrassing, but the panic was much more prevalent. Ron and she traded a knowing and lustful look, and upon a glance, Hermione was able to see the physical effect that pleasuring her had given him. His jeans were loose, but not loose enough. She giggled and they waited for whoever was home, to pass them on their way to their bedroom.

* * *

**I'd like to thank all of those leaving reviews for me! It really is very encouraging and helpful! 3**


	11. Chapter 11

_He knew what he wanted to say,_

_But he didn't know how to word it._

_The dirty little hermit,_

_Was thinking of escape,_

_But the place was well guarded._

_The guiltiness that started,_

_Soon as the other part had stopped._

_D is for Delightful,_

_And try and keep your trousers on._

_I think you should know you're his favorite worst nightmare,_

_D is for..._

* * *

**Chapter 11**

* * *

The stars were still twinkling in the night sky when they left the restaurant. The atmosphere was still like that of, maybe, nine at night. It was later than that, though. Much later, but Harry had completely lost track of time. Draco hadn't, he had kept a keen eye on exactly what time it was, but as more time passed, the less he cared. Draco led Harry to a quiet and secluded bit of a park; the trees were wrapped in Christmas lights, and they were turned on for the night. The entire park glowed a light blue, and with the velvety, fresh blanket of night sky, it was beautiful. Harry worried every now and again that nothing could amaze him anymore, if it wasn't made by magic. This occasion showed him that was quite false. Draco's hair looked soft in the dark, his face was less ghostly and his entire silhouette was something powerful and exciting. Shadows and lights were dancing around and the clunk of horses' hooves on the pavement could be heard. There was barely audible music playing from somewhere and Harry knew the basic mechanics of everything that made the scene so lovely; the wires and lights and electricity, the placement of each bench and pocket of garden. He understood it, but it still created the magical feeling inside him. He wondered if Draco ever felt that way, or if magic was so second nature, that he no longer felt the goose-bumpy, shaky hands, pounding heart, incredulous happiness and astonishment that came with every tiny miracle of magic. Harry wondered if being raised with magic diminished its unique power to create the dazzle and spark in one who used it.

Draco stopped walking and Harry followed suit. He turned to face the blonde and Draco had an absolutely vacant smile on. Harry felt concern immediately sweep over him. That was when the bad thoughts began to consume him; he was in a dark, secluded place with ex-death eater Draco Malfoy, who had just lost his mother. No one knew where he was either. He had not told anyone the truth. Harry clutched his own, newer wand, in his right hand that was in his pant pocket. Draco held out his hand, expectantly. Harry was at a loss. He knew what Draco wanted, what he expected, but now so suddenly aware of the danger, Harry was too on edge to trust him.

Draco was accustomed to the strange fantasies that unfolded in his mind when he was in front of Harry Potter. It was always something disturbing, for he, himself, was not a violent person. He considered himself actually peaceful and typically neutral. But when he was presented with the jet black hair, the sharp green eyes behind the stupid glasses, short stature, knobby knees and elbows, the scar and button nose and furrowed brow – he couldn't stop his mind from painting the pictures. When he was in front of Harry Potter, he could only think of punching, kicking, scratching, pulling, biting and he felt an insatiable desire to destroy him. He would have that fantasy, or another, equally as passionate, but much more simple. His mind would offer the idea of cupping Potter's face in his hands and pulling him into a sweet kiss. That his brain would mold such an idea without his consent and suggest it as a possibility typically further fueled the fire in him. The idea of betraying his family's beliefs, his family duty, political stance – it made his skin crawl. The real problem being that he could not ignore Harry Potter. No matter what he fantasized or thought up, no matter how long Potter disappeared from school or the face of the Earth. He needed Potter's attention for reasons so deeply rooted that they were lost to him. He felt as if he would explode into a thousand pieces if Harry did not acknowledge his existence. And that feeling had existed in him from the moment he met the boy. He always much preferred the idea of Harry congratulating him, fawning on him, complimenting and admiring him. He would settle for something equally as honest, though. The insults and knuckles and bruises and broken bones – he could take that instead. The hex Potter had thrown at him in the boy's bathroom in sixth year had satisfied him for a long time. He had a fill of Potter after that and it calmed that raging fever in him, for a while. It was not exactly fear he felt, but a sad resignation. He had looked back at Potter after spotting him in the mirror and gave him exactly half a second to give him an offer he could not refuse. Just half a second to try to kill him, evening the ground so that no one could blame him for trying to kill Harry. Or half a second to offer him help. Half a second to run to him, hold him and insist that he could help him. Save him.

It was Potter that decided war was the better option.

Still, Draco's had gestured toward him in a friendly manner. His face was blank of any real emotion and he was positive Harry was not a mind reader. His mind was running over every single insult he had endured from Potter, every hex and humiliation, indignation and loss. His head was filled with that fever that could only be vanquished by a supernova of energy inside him letting loose. His blood was turning hot, his jaw was invisibly clenched, and the very marrow in his bones was cringing with disgust. He wanted to kill Potter; he wanted to kiss him. He wanted his wand back.

"Please," He finally, begrudgingly, let slip through his teeth.

Harry was very obviously hesitant, but pulled the wand from his back pocket and shyly offered it. There was a moment of quiet and before Harry knew what had happened, he was on the ground, having every curve of his face bruised by Malfoy's hands. He was somehow able to slip his legs under Draco's body, curl them up quickly and kick Draco in his chest. He fell back with a huff and as Harry lunged for him, he saw the raw intent in Malfoy's silver eyes; they were shining with delight. His leg came up so quickly, Harry had no time to react when it hit the side of his face. Before Harry had even reached Malfoy, he was on the ground again, on his side. As Draco leaned in to further his attack, Harry threw his arm and landed an audible punch to the pure blood's cheek. It seemed to have dazed Draco momentarily and Harry was able to rise enough to crouch and rush another fist to his face. In the frenzy of blurred movement, Harry could only catch glimpses of Malfoy's glistening, grey eyes. Harry did not recognize what was in them, but whatever was happening inside him was terrifying. Draco gathered him in the split second that Harry was caught up in his eyes and Draco seized the opportunity to shove his knee into Harry's gut. Harry, predictably, doubled and Draco gripped the back of his head and slammed it down on his raised knee. Harry went down with a bloody nose and sore face. Draco pinned him down in the grass and Harry could taste blood in his mouth. He glared at Draco and the blonde smirked at him.

"Incarcerous," He whispered.

Light-weight ropes very quickly wormed around Harry's entire body. Draco sat up, then, straddling Harry and putting his hands over Harry's chest.

"You're out of your fu – "

"No, no," Draco interrupted.

Harry continued to glare, gaping at the foggy figure.

"Potter, I can't just take it," He explained; he reached over Harry's head and plucked his wand from Harry's bound hands. "I have to win it, for it to be mine again,"

"Why couldn't you just tell me that?" Harry barked.

Draco gave a superior smirk and replied, "No fun that way. I thought the element of surprise would help me in the long run. And now look at you,"

Harry wondered where his glasses were and if the heat he felt all over was apparent on his face. Draco's voice was silky with victory and his figure in the semi-darkness was mysterious and amused.

"You're vulnerable," He added and lowered down, close to Harry's face. He could feel Draco's breath on him, "I could do _anything_ to you,"

Harry knew it was meant as a threat, but something in the way that Draco said it made him excited in a way he had not felt in a long time. A rush of tingling sensation washed over him and he did not know what he wanted to hear or do, but he shamefully admitted to himself that he did not want to stop whatever was happening to him. Despite being terrified of whatever it was he was feeling. Or perhaps terrified by the hesitation or disgust that he wasn't feeling.

"You're lucky that we're allies now," Draco said through a smile.

Harry let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and Draco released him from his binds. He stood, picking something up and helped Harry sit up.

"My – "

"Here," Draco answered, slipping Harry's glasses onto him.

The blonde sat across from him on the ground and gesticulated that he wanted Harry to lean forward. Harry responded, though he had no idea what he was doing or why. Harry thought that all of the events of that day had unfolded so quickly and he was so tired and confused – he was blindly allowing Malfoy to lead him to wherever. It was kinder to his heart to blame his behavior on fatigue than to admit that his guards were entirely down. Draco lifted his palm and rested it on Harry's forehead. He closed his eyes and Harry watched his full lips, mesmerized as they formed the word, "Episkey," and Harry felt a cooling sensation wash over his face. Whatever might have been broken or bruised or bloody was cleaned and fixed and Harry waited to thank him. Draco opened his eyes after a moment and was smiling genuinely, obviously glad to have his wand back and to have had an excuse to beat Harry up, without injuring their 'alliance'. Draco stood and offered his hand, to help Harry off the ground. Harry took it, amazed by his capacity for trust. They brushed themselves off and Draco gazed at his wand from a distance and, if Harry hadn't known better, tears had been building in his eyes. He looked to Harry again and asked, putting his wand by his side,

"Anything else hurt?"

"Besides my ego? No, nothing,"

Draco's lips tugged to the side and he clapped a hand against Harry's shoulder; briefly scaring him.

"No worry. I'm about to make it up to you,"

"How's that?" Harry questioned, uneasily.

"Your first carriage ride through the park, of course," Draco answered.

Harry watched Draco walking ahead and could hear him talking aloud, but not exactly what he was saying. He was a moment from catching up with him, but tried his hardest to look at the picture from an outsider's perspective. To escape the frame, in a sense. He wasn't sure if he liked Draco Malfoy or not. But as Draco turned back to him, with an expression that seemed to be confused by Harry's lack of faith, Harry decided one thing about Draco Malfoy. He certainly was not boring.


	12. Chapter 12

_A thousand times I've seen you standing,_

_Gravity like a lunar landing._

_Make me want to run till I find you._

_I shut the world away from here._

_Drift to you, you're all I hear,_

_Everything we know fades to black._

_Half the time the world is ending._

_Truth is, I am done pretending._

_I never thought that I had anymore to give,_

_Pushing me so far,_

_Here I am without you._

_Drink to all that we have lost,_

_Mistakes we have made,_

_Everything will change,_

_But love remains the same._

_Find the place where we escape,_

_Take you with me for a space._

_The city buzz, sounds just like a fridge,_

_I walk the streets through seven bars._

_I had to find just where you are,_

_The faces seems to blur, they're all the same._

_So much more to say,_

_So much to be done,_

_Don't you trick me out._

_We shall overcome,_

_So, all have stayed in place._

_We should have had the sun,_

_Could have been inside,_

_Instead we're over here._

_I wish this could last forever._

_Everything will change._

_Love remains the same._

* * *

**Chapter 12**

* * *

The figure entering the house came into the light,

"Harry," Hermione greeted.

Harry gave a smile and the warmth of the Burrow was never so welcoming. His eyes landed on Ron and her, looking a touch flustered, but he blamed it on the fire that was still going.

"It's late, I thought you two would be asleep by now,"

Hermione smiled and crossed her arms, "Not all of us require twelve hours to be a functional person,"

Ron stepped forward a bit and asked, "How's the hangover, Harry?"

"Eh, it's mostly gone,"

"Mione was too trashed to properly make it to her room by herself! You fell asleep before that, though. It was hysterical,"

The brunette visibly blushed and shoved Ron's broad shoulder in protest.

"Shut up, Ron!" She laughed.

"It's really weird," Ron explained, "You're always helping us do simple stuff and then you can't stand!"

She pushed him again and Harry laughed at her mortified expression. Ron was grinning too and added,

"I mean, I'm Irish, you know? I wasn't concerned about not holding my liquor, but, yeesh – you fooled me for a bit. As long as you were sitting or laying down, you couldn't tell, but the second you tried to stand – "

"Ron!"

Both boys broke out laughing at her and she smiled, rolling her eyes.

"You two never change,"

Ron splayed a big, freckled hand over his chest, as if appalled, "That's my favorite thing about us!"

Harry smiled at the two of them and felt that perfect at-home feeling, that secondhand happiness for them and the gladness of being somewhere that was almost his own home. The Weasley house was so open and cuddled at the same time, so obviously built on for years and years. All the details were there, in place. Not details you find in a joyless or new home; the home was matured with fantastic and fun stories of love and adventure. Markings on the walls documented heights, scuff marks on the floors that had no vanished, despite years of working away at them. There were scratches where the legs of furniture had been moved around, and in the bedrooms, there were little white spots where something had apparently been taped to the wall, then taken off. Molly had a vast collection of perfumes and there was something very humorous about it to Harry. Just the thought of years of Mother's day gifts, birthday gifts, holiday gifts and from all boys – perfume was likely the only thing any of the boys could come up with to get their mother as a present. Harry was sure that she treated each one specially and loved each one all the same, no matter the lack of surprise. That bit was what made Harry chuckle to himself.

There were still some odd nails and bolts that could be found behind large pieces of furniture in George's room, that were the result of him and Fred taking apart their bunk beds to make them separate, but closer. There were worn out, hand-me-down class textbooks on the bookshelf in the living room. Molly and Arthur must have kept them there, never refreshing them and just watching as they came back, each year, somehow more distorted than when they had left. The grandfather clock which told Molly and Arthur where all the boys were had broken; when Fred died, his hand had fallen from the face of the clock. Harry recalled Molly crying hysterically over it and he remembered George wanting to remove his own hand from the clock. Percy kept to himself a lot and Harry could sense a deep feeling of survivor's guilt in him. Harry believed that any older sibling would feel responsible for not being able to protect a younger sibling, but there was a regret in Percy. There was a genuine regret in Percy that he had not died in place of Fred.

There were mugs in the kitchen cabinet that had cracks in them from being dropped and thrown in childish battle enactments. In the back of the boys' shirt collars were loose threads; evidence that Molly and Arthur had many occasions to grip the boys by the back of their shirts to separate them. Harry imagined that the whole lot of the family must have driven anyone insane without wands – just wild, rogue magic flying back and forth all the time. Bill and Charlie visited plenty and Ron and Ginny worked hard to be particularly talkative at family meals – Percy kept to content and happy conversational input, and George did laugh a lot. They could not erase the feeling of loss, though. The house was homey and cozy and in every way, lovely. But in the warmth of the fire, there was a chill. In the well lit bedrooms, there was a darkness. In the threshold of the front entrance of the house, there was a lingering feeling. One that whispered through the laughter at the table, the happy conversation, the gazes averted from the grandfather clock – it whispered that someone was missing. Fred's spirit, though seemingly at peace, plagued the Weasley home and spread its darkness like a disease.

Even in these moments, when Harry was laughing with his best friends, never being so glad to be in the Burrow, there was blood on the walls. Harry knew that countless families were affected this way during and after the war. It did not ruin happiness for anyone, but it made the heart lurch and squeeze in a way that made one want to burst into tears. Even in happiness.

The trio ended up sitting by the dwindling fire for an hour and joking around about their drunkenness and Ron's new job. Harry was proud of him and glad that he seemed so excited, but went on to remind him how dangerous working with dragons was. Granted, Harry only had two experiences with dragons, but both were terrifying and life-threatening. Ron shrugged it off and said that it was a "wicked cause of death to put on a certificate," and Hermione went on a tangent about his lack of sense, lack of self-preservation skills and putting his life in danger. He laughed her off mostly, but he seemed well aware of the risks he was taking. He was talking about how badly he wanted to leave at the start of July, which was two weeks from then. Hermione and Harry felt the same sudden desire to hug Ron and not let him leave. Acknowledging how much he clung to Ron made Harry smile guiltily. If it was an unhealthy relationship, he didn't mind at all. Ron Weasley was his Weezy and his most wonderful treasure. He was more than a friend, more than a brother; he was more like a kindred spirit. He was connected to Harry in a way that no other human was and Harry doubted that anyone could recreate the bond Ron and he had between them.

Hermione gave them both hugs and went to bed after a while, and in only took minutes for Harry and Ron to follow. Before they got to the staircase, though, Ron stopped Harry, draping an arm over Harry's shoulders and huddling close to him.

"Look," He whispered, "I… I know why you've been sneaking off,"

Harry's heart sank and his stomach jumped around. He had no idea what to tell Ron – he knew damn well that Ron still hated all the Malfoys, live and deceased. He opened his mouth to begin his apologies and excuses, but Ron put a hand on his chest, saying softly,

"It's cause I'm leaving soon,"

Harry could have sworn his pulse had stopped.

"What?"

"It's okay, Harry," Ron went on, "It's okay to be scared about me leaving. But putting walls between us until I'm gone isn't gonna ease the pain, mate,"

Harry tried very hard not to laugh in relief and smile in humor. He tried to keep a completely unreadable expression, but nodded and waited for Ron to continue.

"I'll be back before you know it, Harry, and I'll write – I really won't even be gone very long. They'll only keep me til I've gotta go to school. And I'll miss you too, mate,"

Harry couldn't fight back the smile anymore, but Ron must have seen it as Harry feeling reassured. Ron smiled back and hugged Harry,

"I'll be back so quick, you'll barely have time to miss me,"

Harry let out a small chuckle, trying so hard not to burst Ron's bubble. He just hugged back and replied,

"You know me too well, Ron,"

Ron broke the hug and smacked his back, in that friendly way that was still far too hard. Harry never had the heart to tell Ron that he caused him physical pain like that – he had a feeling Ron would be too upset about it. It didn't happen often enough to be a problem – it was just sore whenever it did happen. He smiled still, though and Ron looked comforted by it.

"That's what best mates are for,"

They walked to Ron's room together and chuckled about Hermione's indecent drunken behavior while Harry was out cold and Molly's inability to entertain them. Harry wanted to share the adventure of his night, but there was such a story behind it and he knew that the name Draco Malfoy would not just float through the air naturally. That name might elicit crying or yelling or even punching – it was like a police siren in that it could part the sea with its significance and the oncoming sense of danger nearby. Before drifting off to sleep, Harry noted that he hadn't cared to ask about Ginny or even say goodnight to her, if she had been awake. Harry also noticed that Ron hadn't cared to mention it.

* * *

George sat in his room, quiet and alone. The bed parallel to his was empty, but there was an indent where Fred's body had beaten down on it for years. By the closet was an unlabeled and open box with toy trains and action figures – some had been destroyed with normal wear and tear, but most of them were broken by magic gone wrong. George smiled to himself in the darkness, seeing the glint of the shiny metal front of their toy train. He and Fred had been playing with it, having just discovered their ability to lift things with their minds when they concentrated very, very hard. They passed it back and forth between each other, giggling, but expecting trouble when they heard their father's voice enter the room, Fred's power spiked as George's let go and it somehow flew against the wall and sprang across the room, bopping Arthur on the head. He recalled the laughing fit they had been thrown into and how their 'time-outs' never quite worked, because together, they always made the best of a bad situation. Together, there was no such thing as a bad time.

George felt himself struggling. There was this overwhelming feeling of defeat and loss in his heart and it was so constant. He felt detached and apathetic most of the time, despondent and alone, but when he tried to vocalize his feelings, no words would come to him. He eventually stopped trying to say what he was feeling, and decided to try to fight through it himself. This in particular was a difficult concept to him; when he was depressed, he never fought it alone. Fred was always there to also fight for him in a way that no one else could. They shared each other's minds and souls in a way that no one else could quite understand. Not that they were the same person – not by any stretch of the imagination – but they knew each other inside and out. There were times that he would take Fred's hand and he would stare at their open palms beside each other in awe. He would try to find a single difference – a single line that was similar, but not identical. He never could, though. The only empathy he ever believed was Fred's. He could not believe that anyone would understand him so well again.

George rose out of his bed and walked across the creaky hardwood floor to his brother's. He stared down, able to imagine the figure that used to rest there and dream the same funny, magical dreams George dreamed. He touched the bedpost and saw a hair on the pillowcase. He knew it was Fred's. He wondered briefly if he could make a polyjuice potion with it; would he become Fred? Another physical copy of himself? He chuckled, considering what Fred might tell him and the idea escalated into a daydream, where he had that idea long ago and told it to Fred. They would've made the potion and switched bodies on and off and have driven everyone entirely insane.

Despair rose from the soles of his feet and flooded every single vein and nerve; it scratched along his bones and it slid needles into his heart and knees buckled and fell. He doubled over onto the floor, his forehead pressed into his clenched fists, tears rolling down his cheeks. His whole body felt cold and he may as well have been floating adrift at sea, with no hope of rescue. Abandonment, loneliness, isolation – it did not need an ocean or desert or mountain – it happened inside a person. It was happening inside George and he was not healing and he was not expecting anyone to realize he was lost. In the moonlight, he knelt there, crying and begging,

"I wanna go home,"

He did not know what it meant, but the desolation and anxiety and secret illness sketched out those words with broken hands. He did not know what would vanquish the burning fire in him, what could dry the flood or climb the mountain in him – he couldn't really even understand what was happening inside him. The only sense he could try to make of it was that single phrase.

"I wanna go home,"

* * *

Percy sat in bed, a candle lit and floating beside him. He was writing letters to Bill and Charlie, detailing the wellness, or lack thereof, of the family. He was reporting Ron's job offer and the flourish of his relationship, the pubescent, volatile mood swings of Ginny and the distance George was putting between he and everyone else. He began writing about Harry and realized that he had not been at the house too much. He wondered where Harry might be going, but tried to convince himself that it wasn't his business what Harry did and instead wrote that Harry was quite distant as of late, also. He put his quill down and rubbed the space between his eyes, unsure of what to tell his brothers of their parents. The war had aged them, and likely took ten or more years off of Molly's life. He was feeling the creep of sadness and guilt again, and so decided to go to sleep instead.

* * *

Arthur woke in the middle of the night. He turned over, but felt the absence of his wife. Worried, he left the warmth of bed and his pale feet dragged on the cold floor on his way to the kitchen. He looked for her, maybe making tea or getting a midnight snack, but there was no one there. He checked the living room, but it was empty also. He was about to go knocking on the children's respective doors, but he caught a glimpse of something outside the house. He stopped and looked out the window of the living room, and saw in the pale moonlight, Molly's figure. He opened the door and walked up behind her. She felt him but said nothing, and in tune with her, Arthur said nothing. He wrapped his arms around her waist and the cool chill of the night swept by them, while Arthur looked down at her wild, red hair and she looked up into the starry sky.

"We should go away,"

Arthur hummed in agreement.

"Just you and me,"

He quirked a brow and pouted with peaked interest.

"Alright," He replied, "We can do that,"

"No we can't," She immediately said, "The kids, your work, the house – oh, it'd be a mess,"

He smiled a little, used to, but still enamored with her quirky back and forth mind.

"The kids would be fine. They're more than capable of taking care of themselves. The house would not fall apart without you and I've got sick days to use up from the past year. We can go somewhere, Molly,"

She turned around to face him and snuggled her face into the crook of his neck,

"I'm sorry,"

He hugged her tightly. She was nonsense to anyone who did not understand her, but he knew what she was saying. He knew what she was feeling and what she would feel until the day she died. He was determined to make her happy, though. The same way he had been determined to make her happy so many years ago.

"You and I haven't got a lot of time left," He started.

She pulled away from him slightly, arms still clasped around the small of his back.

He smiled sadly and told her, "Two wars and all the kids – and all the sights of those alarming bills," They both laughed before he went on, "It's taken years off of us. We've lived a lot in our brief time, Molly, but we haven't got long enough to be this sad. Let's say, ten or twenty years left on us, right? I want you to smile for them. I want you to be happy again, okay? We'll work on it. We'll make the world a better place to be again. You and I,"

She nodded, obviously unsure and teary eyed, but hugging him again transformed her into a young girl. She was so ready to face the world in his arms, so ready to take on anything. Seven children, two wars and all the money spent that they didn't have – those challenges seemed so microscopic when she was in Arthur Weasley's arms. She looked up at him again, into his goofy smile and tired eyes. It made her smile and she stood up on her toes, kissing him. Her feet were cold in the dirt, and breeze going by made her legs and arms prickle; she could feel Arthur's agony too. She knew that the wars and children and loss had maimed him too. Just as deeply as it had her. He was willing to be strong, though, and lead them into the uncertainty of recovery.

"You haven't taken me to Bora Bora, yet," She complained.

He laughed heartily, "Oh, is that all? Right away, dear,"

They held hands and he led her back inside, into the welcome, warm embrace of bed. She fell asleep, her head on his chest and his hand in her hair.


	13. Chapter 13

_And I told you to be patient,_

_And I told you to be fine._

_And I told you to be balanced,_

_And I told you to be kind._

_And in the morning, I'll be with you,_

_But it will be a different kind._

_'Cause I'll be holding all the tickets,_

_And you'll be owning all the fines._

_And now all your love is wasted,_

_Then who the hell was I?_

_'Cause now I'm breaking at the britches,_

_And at the end of all your lies._

_Who will love you?_

_Who will fight?_

_Who will fall far behind?_

* * *

**Chapter 13**

* * *

Draco was lying on his back on his bedroom floor, his black socks and pants still on, but he was otherwise undressed. His arms were outstretched above him, in his left hand was his newly returned wand and the tip had a light red glow to it. He felt as if magic was surging through his veins – flowing through him in a way that it had not since first attaining his wand. He wondered what spell he would cast first. He was grinning lovingly at it when a sudden wave of memory crashed and spilled over his mind's eye. His mother's voice echoed in his head, reminding him that only good boys get wands. His eyes softened and his smile slowly faded. His stare became one of grief, though his brows dared not move. Not even in solitude could Draco feel comfortable enough to allow his face to contort into emotion. His father's influence had trained him too well.

_Does this mean I am a good boy again?_

He felt the prickle of heat crawling up under his eyes when his brain was able to answer him what his mother would say, had she been there.

_You have always been a good boy._

He let his arms drop to his chest, but his wand stayed firmly in his grasp. He pledged that no foreign hands would touch that wand again. He realized how great a treasure his magic was, having had it taken away. He sighed and sat up, twirling his wand between his fingers.

"I should probably sleep…"

The words felt like an echo. Draco could see small particles of dust floating in the air, hit by the moonlight pouring into his room from his window. He considered making one of the house elves set up tea and talk to him, but he did not want to wake them. There was something beautiful and tragic and holy about the quiet loneliness, and Draco would not trespass upon it. The big mansion was so vacant that Draco could have sworn the air even seemed clearer than it ever had before. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply; the air in the Malfoy Mansion would have been musty, but it was too large a complex to have stuffy air. The smell of age, though, and spaciousness was in the air. He stood and sat on the end of his four-poster bed. He peeled his socks off, while there was not even so much as a creak beneath his weight. He unfastened his pants, but his gaze ended up lost, out his window and among the stars. He felt his muscles tensing, heating up and his eyes were threatening to sting. He sighed and dropped his forehead into his open palms, leaning his weight on his elbows. His feet were planted on the floor, and he abruptly threw his weight onto them.

He rose and walked out of his room, down the long hall of closed doors; at the end of the hall there were double doors that were slightly ajar. He stopped at a few feet in front of them. His heart was booming, his hands clenching painfully and his brows were furrowing. He wondered why all he ever felt turned into anger – why they taught him that all things like jealousy, rejection, embarrassment, sadness – that it all had to become anger for him to be considered strong. His hand reached out, shaking and very nearly touching the handle of the right door. He froze, though. His spidery fingers curled back into his palm and his arm gently and gradually fell back at his side. He lowered his head in something akin to shame, and mumbled,

"Goodnight, mother. Goodnight, father,"

Beyond those doors were Draco's parents. They were already in bed, tucked in and reading by lamp-shaded candlelight. He would open the door and his mother would look up from her book and smile sweetly, sleepily. His father would pause before holding his place on a page and then looking up at the disturbance. And his mother would tell him how important it is that he go to sleep and stay asleep until morning – because he just wasn't right when he didn't have his eight hours. His father would hum in agreement or make another ambiguous noise that would substitute conversation. His mother would wish him sweet dreams. Then Draco would tell them both 'goodnight'. His mother would blow him a kiss, his father would say, 'Yes, goodnight' and return his eyes to his page. Then Draco would close the doors and return to his room to sleep well, and have dreams gently; the way his mother wished them to be.

Draco knew what was beyond those doors, and so he could not open them. For if anything but those images would appear, Draco would be quite sure he had fallen into a rip in the universe. He would be lost. So, he walked from the doors, back to his room and stared at his ceiling until morning came to paint a more welcoming picture of his orphan home.

* * *

Afternoon left him so restless that he decided to go for a walk. He went to the back of the mansion, where his mother's enchanted garden kept itself luscious and exotic. The house elves maintained it and it was a colorful contrast to the bleak house. He heard the flap of wings as a black owl landed on his shoulder. He immediately recognized the creature and, so shocked to see it, he let slip aloud,

"Pansy?"

It presented a letter to him, and once he took it, the owl jumped from him and took flight. He stood there, in the entrance to the garden, for an unmoving moment. He looked down in his hands and he found that he did not know what to do with the letter. He couldn't decide whether Pansy was friend or foe and he certainly had no idea what she would have to say to him. He walked further into the garden, wand in pocket and letter in hand. He sat down on a lone bench that stood in the middle of the garden. He opened the envelope and it read.

_Dearest Draco,_

_I have found myself at a loss for words. I wish I had summoned the courage to write you sooner, but my cowardice knows no end. I am ashamed that I have not been there for you through this difficult time. In light of your recent loss, I am sending my condolences, alongside an invitation. I am retiring for the next month to my aunt's [now deceased] spring home. It is a vast estate and I would be honored to have you as a guest again. I am anxiously awaiting your reply. If you do not feel comfortable accompanying me, I understand._

_My most sincere apologies and love,_

_Pansy Parkinson_

He thought to himself that she sounded just like her mother. He had read in the paper about her mother's execution; it had turned into a ghastly affair when her mother attempted to kill herself. Draco vaguely recalled the story explaining that she had bitten into her wrists for so long and, apparently, so violently, that she had come very close to severing her artery. Draco believed about ten percent of what he read in the papers, though, and that was being generous. He wondered if she was capable of taking care of herself, now that her parents were gone. He nearly asked himself the same question, but stopped before it became a coherent thought. He would not tread upon those dark thoughts. Dark and more importantly, uncertain. He felt a ribbon on his heart, tugging in Pansy's direction. She needed someone to lean on, to take care of her, to soften her fall; and Draco needed a distraction from himself. He found himself eager to write her back.

As soon as he stood, though, he heard a rustle. He turned around and heard it again. He knelt on the bench and looked over its back to find a thin, white cat staring back at him. He sighed in dismay and felt his heart flutter when the cat gave him a long blink; he took that to mean the cat was comfortable and quite alright with Draco's company.

"Right, right," Draco whined, "Okay. Yes, I know,"

He reached over and picked the cat up. He could already see white fur sticking to his dark red sweater and he rolled his eyes. The cat was complacent and Draco knew that meant to worry. The cat was far too thin to be well fed or healthy, and if a wild or stray animal was accepting help from a strange human, it was surely in bad shape. The cat meowed the entire walk into the mansion and Draco found himself replying to it, saying things like, "Yes, yes," and "I know, I know."

Pansy's letter would have to wait. There was a talkative stranger even less capable of taking care of itself now in his possession.

* * *

A week had passed by, and the company of the Weasley family – particularly Ron and Ginny, had consumed Harry. George seemed more quiet than normal, but everyone had decided to give him whatever space he wanted. Percy was out, looking for ministry work most days. Ginny, Ron, Hermione, Molly and Harry found themselves eating far too much, cleaning, lounging together, playing magical board games and spending time in the sun. Harry worried, though, that he had not heard a peep from Draco Malfoy. He had not considered what he was expecting; if he had been expecting Malfoy to owl him or just drop by. He realized how foolish it was to consider that Malfoy would be the one to initiate contact again. Harry was thinking of Draco Malfoy alarmingly more frequently than the redheaded girl that provided a constant fourth wheel to the Golden Trio. Ginny seemed to be aware of her awkward presence, but was obviously ignoring it. Harry could barely shake her when he wanted to go to sleep; he felt immediately smothered.

Hermione was understanding, but did press Harry to spend more time with her. Less time running off to no-one-knows-where. Harry wanted to defend himself, but there was no way that anyone would understand quite yet. War wounds were still fresh and sensitive, and he was positive that they would jump and scream at the mention of the pureblood family.

It was during a typical family dinner that an unfamiliar knock came to the door. Molly was the one to answer the door; Arthur was protectively behind her the way there. All necks were turned to see who would be visiting the Weasley home during a late dinner hour, but no one seemed to recognize the figure.

"Evenin', I believe this is the Missus and Mister Weasley, then?"

Molly nodded cautiously before asking, "And who are you?"

"Theodore M. Barthum, ma'am, could I come in?"

Ron swallowed an entire chicken thigh and coughed uncomfortably as he stood. He brushed his legs off and straightened his shirt by the hem. He went to the door and greeted the man, pushing past Molly and Arthur.

"Mr. Barthum! I wasn't expecting you! Mum, Dad – this is Mr. Barthum, the man that's given me work!"

Molly's expression instantaneously brightened and Arthur gave the man a broad smile. Ron was grinning; Theodore Barthum had to be at least half the size of Hagrid. He was a clean man wearing a deep purple vest with golden buttons; a white collared shirt and he had many rings on both hands. He had a cloak on, but the hood was lowered and his pitch-black hair was tied back in a tight ponytail. His hair was only long enough for it to be tied back. He eventually sat in the living room and, one by one, each resident of the Burrow found their way in there.

"I only thought it proper to meet Ronald's parents, disclose some information – perhaps calm some inhibitions, and introduce myself,"

Hermione noted that Ron did not tell Mr. Barthum that he was not fond of his full name and preferred it shortened. His ass-kissing was already developing and she smiled at him in humor.

"Well, that's lovely!" Molly said, "Tell us about the work he'll be up to!"

Hermione and Harry already knew the details; the ones that Ron had said he was positive would give his mother an ulcer. Considering that, they both stood and offered to clear the table and clean the dishes. Hermione was at one end of the kitchen; packing left overs into Tupperware, while Harry was at the other end, washing all the dishes. Above the sink was a small window that looked out onto the vast back lawn. Harry saw a flash of a rabbit running by and it made him smile.

_I wonder if Malfoy is alone tonight._

His mind's eye showed him Narcissa's pleading gaze, her hand on his knee and her eyes fluttering shut forever. He nearly dropped a plate onto the ground, but caught himself before Hermione noticed. She was attempting to stuff far too much chicken into too small a container. He turned back to scrubbing, taking his time in the warm, soapy water. He felt like sitting or lying down and relaxing, but the chore provided him the rare opportunity to be alone with his thoughts.

_He probably shouldn't be alone. I'll floo to him tomorrow…_

"Harry,"

He turned and found Hermione smiling gladly at him. He smiled back at her and she told him,

"I'm going to join them in the living room now. Are you alright on your own?"

He nodded and she patted his shoulder before turning and disappearing behind the corner.

_I hope he's doing alright._


	14. Chapter 14

_You grip your hands around my throat,_

_You strip the buttons off my coat._

_I choose the methods I do best,_

_Thump, thump; the thumping in your chest._

* * *

**Chapter 14**

* * *

When Harry landed in Malfoy's fireplace, he expected the house to be mostly empty. He coughed some of the soot out of his lungs and brushed off more clouds from his person as he stepped out, into the living room. When his eyes focused, he adjusted his glasses and found Whim planted on one of the armchairs. He jumped to his big, floppy feet and trotted to Harry,

"Mister Potter! A pleasure to see you, sir!"

"Yes, thank you, Whim… is Malfoy here?"

"Master Draco is entertaining a guest on the west porch. Would you like Whim to inquire an audience with him?"

"Oh," Harry started, "No, but, uhm, who is his guest?"

"Miss Parkinson is here for a visit. Whim has not seen Miss Parkinson for a very long time. Would you like Whim to make Master Draco aware that you are here?"

"No, no, that's okay – uhm, but I would like a glass of water if I could – "

"Of course!" Whim interrupted.

The elf took Harry's hand and led him into the kitchen. As the elf climbed onto the kitchen counter to get a glass, Harry wandered off to a window on the far left end of the kitchen. He could see the porch, stretching out onto a vast and colorful lawn. He saw Draco, then. He saw the blonde hair shimmering in the afternoon sunlight, he saw Pansy sitting across from him at a glass, round table. They had a pitcher of what looked like ice-cold tea, there were flowers everywhere and Pansy was wearing a flattering, pastel colored dress. Her hair was so dark and her hairstyle was so sharp; her face was sharp too, but it had lost much color and she looked much more like a ghost than a girl. Draco looked aloof, not smiling, but looking welcoming. Harry found himself feeling something almost like jealousy. He concluded that there was simply no way he was jealous – and of whom would he be jealous? Perhaps he was being reminded of the lack of peace there was between he and Ginny; peace that seemed to emanate from Pansy and Draco.

Pansy said something and Draco gave a half-hearted chuckle, he flicked some blonde hair from his forehead and turned his face briefly. He looked to the tall kitchen window and met Harry's eyes. In that split second, Harry's heart jumped. Draco made no expression that he had acknowledged Harry and went on talking to Pansy. Some kind of frustration worked its way into Harry's head. He was certain Draco had seen him – the least he could have done was give a wave or a nod. Perhaps Draco Malfoy was just too high on his social pedestal to give Harry any acknowledgement. He certainly was not feeling jealousy; he felt rejected. He shook his head of the thought, but looked to Whim, who was now handing him his glass of water.

"Whim, don't you want him to free you? Don't you think it's awful to work for such a git night and day?"

The elf looked confused for a moment.

"Whim does not understand. Whim has been free for a long time,"

Harry froze and asked, "What?"

"Oh, yes. When Master Draco's parents were taken into custody, he freed all of the house elves. Master Draco never truly understood we worked against our will; he thought of us all as nannies, since he knew us all from birth. Once his parents were gone, Master Draco gave us all our own clothes,"

"Well," Harry began, "then why have you only been in rags since I've seen you? And why are you all still here?"

"Master Draco did not want anyone to know he had freed us, if we insisted on staying. We only wear our clothes when there are no visitors,"

"Why did you insist on staying?" Harry wondered.

"Because, Mister Potter, we all love Master Draco," Whim answered simply.

Harry stared at the elf in amazement, while he went on,

"Master Draco was always kind to us. Always polite. He always asked for things – he never gave orders. We have known him since infancy. Whim was even there at Master Draco's birth!" He exclaimed.

Harry gave a little laugh; mostly out of shock. He looked out the window again, as if he would not recognize Draco if he saw him again. No one was on the porch, though. Harry felt a slight panic, and then both heard the front doors close. Harry found himself strangely paralyzed, until Draco walked into the kitchen. He dismissed Whim with a single glance and then the room stood still and quiet.

"Pay for your dinner, take you on a romantic midnight carriage ride and I don't even get a letter?" The blonde joked.

Harry gave him a guilty smile and his chest relaxed.

"Sorry, I've been a bit busy, but I came by as soon as I could… why was Pansy Parkinson here?"

Draco cocked a brow, "A life-long friend of mine; she's just lost her parents and she's quite useless on her own,"

"Is she your girlfriend?"

Harry and Draco both acknowledged the bizarre strain that was on Harry's voice when it echoed in the room. It had sounded as if the words struggled to climb up from Harry's throat; he found himself embarrassed.

"Not exactly your business, Potter. Not to mention that it is a fairly major conclusion to jump to. I am capable of having women over my house while not bedding them,"

Harry looked to the floor, unsure of what to say. He felt as if he had crossed a line. He was on a downward roll, and he wanted to stop, but he couldn't. The past week, he had thought of nothing but blonde hair and silver eyes and pale skin and playful flirting. Harry cringed when he had realized that Draco flirted with him; it was just unnatural. He couldn't tell if Draco was making fun of him in his own pretty-boy head, or if it was his bratty way of being friendly.

"Why don't you ever talk about your life?"

Malfoy seemed stunned. Harry felt power shift to his end of the room, if only very slightly. He watched Draco's lips; they were hesitant, but attempting to form something. Harry's nerves betrayed him and he jumped to fill the silence.

"I mean, I get it if you want your privacy, I just…"

He trailed off into the strained silence. Draco's eyes were confused, a touch lit up too. Very suddenly, Draco's eyes softened and his lips closed. He gave a smile and asked, gently,

"Is it that you'd like to even the grounds? I'm sure it would be nerve-wracking for me, if all my life was written out in the papers, but my very new alliance had not disclosed any information about theirs,"

"No," Harry answered, "No, Malfoy… I guess… I just want to know where we stand,"

"Where we have always stood, Potter,"

Draco was beginning to fantasize about running across the room and slamming Potter's thick skull on the floor. He even considered breaking his nose again. He was putting on his best act of civility. Everything Potter said, it always sounded like a threat to him. He wasn't sure why, but he never cared enough to investigate the cause. He just accepted the fight or flight response his body gave him at every word Potter ungraciously spit at him.

"Right," Harry bit, "Fine. You seem fine by yourself, so – "

"Obviously," Draco interrupted.

There was a very quick quiet before Draco added, "I don't need a babysitter, Potter. I don't want to messy our arrangement. We have been on civil terms lately, I'm sure that could continue if you don't floo to my house unannounced again,"

"That's what this cold shoulder is about?" Potter asked before he knew it was coming out of his mouth.

Malfoy smirked in a knowing way, "What? You were hoping for a second date, Potter?"

Harry blushed and felt irritation growing on the inside of his head like a prickly mold.

"Not exactly, Malfoy. I just thought…"

Harry realized he didn't know how to finish that sentence. Draco finished it for him, though, in a tone Harry had not heard him use since school. He sneered, his eyes narrowed and he practically regurgitated on the words,

"You just thought we'd be _friends_?"

"Yeah…" Harry admitted, "Yeah… I thought we got along well enough,"

"We got along fine because I bit my tongue and got the opportunity to beat you half to hell," Malfoy retorted bitterly.

Draco's heart was pumping loudly and his blood was stinging like acid.

"Oh," Harry tensed and glared, "Because I'm such an impossible person to be around? I've been nothing but nice to you, Malfoy!"

"Oh, thank you, Saint Potter! For your fucking charity check-up on a fellow orphan! You _are_ impossible to be around!"

"Shut up, Malfoy! I thought there would be less enmity between us!"

"No!" Draco shouted.

Harry noticed, behind Draco, a line of six house elf heads were peaking over each other from beyond a crack in the door. They appeared worried and Harry felt the anger growing in the room.

"No, there will not be less enmity between us, you bloody idiot! I don't like you and you don't like me. That's fine. That's the way it's always been, so I don't see any reason to change! Go back to your filthy mudbloods and give them your fucking charity, seeing as they can't afford to wipe their own asses without you!"

It took Harry about two seconds to lunge at Malfoy and the fists started flying. Harry could barely feel the punches being delivered to his flesh, because the adrenaline masked so much of the pain. He knew he was punching far too hard, that he was not holding back as much as he should have. In the blur of fists and drops of blood, he saw a glimpse of Narcissa's eyes and his body froze. Immediate guilt and shame washed over him and he could not longer move. Malfoy took advantage of that; he kicked Harry away and quickly rose to his feet. His thin wrist reached up to his full lips, now bloody and dripping, to wipe away the color. He glared at Harry again, and growled,

"Get out,"

Harry was paralyzed again, unsure of what to do, but once Draco brandished his wand, Harry sped to the floo and was gone in a puff.

* * *

**I wanna thank everyone for all the reviews and follows and faves thus far! Thank you so, so, so much! It is all very encouraging and lovely :3**


	15. Chapter 15

_Stay away from open windows, and put the telephone down. _

_Can you run as fast as this house will fall when the alarm bell sounds? _

_No, I was never much of a dancer, but I know enough to know you've got to move your idiot body around, and that you can't settle down until the idiot in your blood settles down._

_If I found you in this city called Paradise, I'd say, "I love you, but I hate this city, and I'm no prize." _

_And you know your heart, and you know your heart… but you can't settle down. No, you can't settle down. So just move around…_

_I hope that you died in a decent pair of shoes, cause you've got a lot of long walking to do, where you're going to…_

* * *

**Chapter 15**

* * *

"Harry?"

He looked up at George's questioning stare, standing before the fireplace and gazing at his beaten and bloody face.

"Malfoy. It was Malfoy,"

The confessions started tumbling out of him before he had the chance to bite his tongue. He told George everything, from the moment he first heard Narcissa Malfoy's voice in his head, to the last glance he threw over his shoulder at Malfoy's infuriated face. George performed some healing spells and remained thoughtfully silent until Harry was done telling the tale in its entirety. The taller redhead eventually asked,

"Okay, so, what are you gonna do?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," George started, "You promised Malfoy's mum that you'd be good to 'im, right?"

Harry sighed and he felt shame sweep over him again, for what must have been the hundredth time since he left Malfoy Manor.

"I don't know why, but… he just drives me insane. Do you ever think that there are, just, sometimes, people in the world who can't…I don't know, function together?"

George's mouth slanted in a doubtful way and Harry tried to rephrase, "No, no, I mean…some people can just never get along. That's what I mean. Despite all efforts and good faith and all…do you think it's possible that, sometimes, people are wired just so differently that they can't? Like two chemicals that react badly when mixed,"

George seemed to contemplate the idea for a moment, but he ended up shrugging his shoulders.

"I dunno. I think that people can work out a lot of differences, compromise and even just accept each other, you know, even though they've got all that different, uh…wiring,"

Harry frowned a little and let his stare fall to the floor. George gave a glance to Fred's empty bed and began to think. He imagined what Fred might tell Harry to do. Harry began talking aloud, but George wasn't truly listening anymore.

"Lucky that you were the only one to stay home today. I don't know how I would've explained all of this away to the rest of them," Harry mentioned.

"Honesty,"

Harry quirked a brow and quickly met George's eyes, "What?"

"That fixes a lot, don't you think? Honesty. When you're just real with someone, you're raw and natural; don't you think it makes 'em more approachable? They start to make more sense?"

"Uhm," Harry started, "Well, sure, I guess…"

"But you can't trust a Slytherin, much less Malfoy, to be honest with anyone, -especially you," George added.

Harry nodded in agreement until George also added, "And no one could trust you to be honest with Malfoy,"

Harry appeared offended at first, then disappointed, and then disgruntledly resigned. George gave him a small smirk and knew what he had to do. He stood up and walked over to Fred's bedside table, opening a bottom drawer. He reached into the dresser and recovered a dusty bottle. It was long and had a bulb-shape to it. The liquid inside was opaque and Harry certainly couldn't identify it. One glance into George's eyes, though, and he could take a good guess.

* * *

Draco nursed his swollen lip in his luxurious bathroom, which was the size of a small apartment. There was a sauna next to the shower, which had two shower heads on either side and had a bench against the wall parallel to the glass, sliding door. There was space for a long window, a cushioned toilet with a small bookrack beside it and a potted plant before the Jacuzzi-styled bathtub. The faucet was designed as a waterfall and candles were all around it; Draco never used them, but his mother had always been fond of bathing with atmosphere. He patted at his bottom lip with a small towel, leaning on one of the two long counters. He glared at his bloody reflection and eventually resigned with a sigh. He saw that water was not going to solve the problem, so fell down and balanced on the balls of his feet. He opened the cabinet beneath the sink and reached for a healing salve, which Severus had helped him make over a year before. He opened the jar and reached in, took his finger across his cut lip and it took only a moment for the bleeding to cease, and soon it was hard to tell anything had happened to him at all.

He went to stand up again, but lost all motivation to do anything. Apathy washed over him like a tidal wave and he simply fell back onto his butt and sat on the floor. He stared at the jar, sitting on the floor between his legs. His eyes went in and out of focus and while he wasn't tired, he felt like lying down and closing his eyes. He tapped the top of the jar, but stopped when he heard a small mewl. He looked at the doorway and the white cat that he had named Icarus was standing, staring.

"Glad to see you're up," Draco told him softly.

Icarus gave a long blink and it made Draco chuckle.

"Right. You're hungry, I'm sure?"

Icarus just sat down and stared into Draco's humored face.

"I'll make some tuna. You like tuna, don't you?"

Icarus tilted his head and Draco laughed a little as he stood. He brushed his knees and shut the light to the bathroom as he told Icarus,

"Come along, we'll figure out something,"

The cat followed his heels, close behind.

* * *

**I'm sorry for the late updates! I've been overwhelmed at work and school! I promise I'll be better! I do still love all of you, thank you for the follows, favorites and reviews thus far! It really is so encouraging and wonderful! Thank you so, so, so much!**


	16. Chapter 16

_Forget your problems,_

_Lay it down and start up._

_I've ran my colors._

_Dripped down and drained out._

_Tried a millions things,_

_But my heart's been shot._  
_I hope you try to find me._

_I almost found a place and,_

_I know what you wanna say._

_So say it._

_Forget the words speaking,_

_Just wanna rearrange._

_So I'll just say it._

_I really miss you, miss you, I said._

_Smile at the chance just to see you again._

* * *

**Chapter 16**

* * *

"You nervous?"

Hermione looked up from her twiddling fingers to Percy's inquisitive stare.

"Sorry?" She asked.

"Just thought I'd tell you that you don't have to worry about Ron. I mean, I'm sure everyone's already told you this, but I just wanted to say so, as well. Ron will be great out there. He might come back with a cut or bruise or two, but I don't have any concerns. I think all will be well," He explained.

She was sitting on the couch, waiting for Ron to finish packing his suitcase. Arthur was helping him along in the kitchen, to get his belongings into the trunk of the flying car. Hermione had insisted on going along for the ride, but the morning of his departure, she began questioning whether or not she could keep herself from crying or having heart palpitations. She hadn't said a word about it, but Percy was certainly intuitive about emotional distress, and in that talent he was much more like his mother than anyone else in the Weasley house. She nodded to him, but her brows and shoulders refused to relax.

Harry sat beside Hermione on the couch and she gave him a half-hearted smile. He smiled to her, more genuinely, and told her,

"He'll be fine, Herm. He even told me that he'll be home so quickly, we'll hardly have time to miss him,"

Her lips curled and pink flattered her face. Harry knew that it would make it her happy; anything that sounded like something Ron would say had that effect. Harry's day had hardly begun, though. He was ecstatic for Ron, much more than he was nervous about his trip. He was much more nervous than he was excited for himself, though, as he had not received a response from the letter he'd sent to Draco. He had sent it the day after their last run-in and it described his apologies and wishes to have dinner again, to ease the tension. He'd not heard back from Draco, however. He decided, then, that he would floo to Malfoy's uninvited, yet again.

Soon the living room was filled with Weasley's and each took turns hugging Ron and wishing him well. The sun was only then rising, and Ron explained that his father was flying him to Mr. Barthum's London office, and that from there, he would be taken to Thailand. He would only then find out exactly what job he'd be given. Hermione held his hand until Arthur granted her permission to come along for the ride. Harry politely declined, allowing Hermione to have as much semi-private time with Ron as she could get.

Just as Arthur, Ron and Hermione shuffled out the door, with Molly a mess of tears behind them, Harry ran to Ron's room. He dug out a night cloak and grabbed his broom and a small bag; he couldn't keep himself from Malfoy any longer. The feeling of responsibility that Narcissa's dying words had instilled in him was twining with his hero complex. He hated Malfoy, but he felt purposeful again and it was a rush he needed and had been desiring; to be told to save someone. He went to fly out of the house, even go Diagon Alley and hopefully use a floo there, seeing as Molly and the rest were still home. He came to a screeching halt when he opened the bedroom door to Ginny's expectant face. His stomach twisted and he swallowed a dry lump in his throat.

"Going out?"

"Yeah," Harry answered hesitantly.

"Can I join you?"

There was a beat of silence and Ginny's stare immediately became much more judgmental. She crossed her skinny arms and Harry managed to get out,

"Well, I just wanted to be… alone. It's not like I'm mad at you or anything, really. I just…"

She rolled her eyes and then said, "Well, fine, but you have to come home. Have dinner with me,"

Harry's more aggressive inner voice stressed, "_have to?"_

"I'll try," Harry replied coldly, as he walked past her, "Really. If I don't get lost on the way home, like last time,"

Harry worried every time he lied; he had been coming up with so many lies as of recent days that he was scared he'd mix them up. She only said back to him that he better be back home for dinner. He passed George on the stairwell, who gave him a knowing look. Harry shrugged guiltily and snuck out before anyone was the wiser.

* * *

Draco sat at his kitchen table, watching Icarus eat chopped up salmon. He sighed, wondering what he might make for himself, but before the flavors or dishes could form in his mind, he heard a crackling sound. He shot up out of his seat, defensive and looking ready to pounce or flee. Icarus wore a similar body language. They looked to each other when the snapping and crackling stopped. Draco slowly approached and opened the door separating the kitchen from the living room. He saw the dying sparks of green in his fireplace and his eyes landed on a familiar head of messy black hair. He glared and confidence filled his once fearful body. He stepped out into the living room and Harry turned to face him. He showed his wand, at the ready and he watched Harry's face turn white.

"What are you doing here, Potter?"

"You didn't respond to my letter,"

"Oh," Draco started in sarcastic concern, "Well, gee. It must've slipped my mind while I was mopping up blood from my kitchen floor!"

Harry took a deep breath and simply told the blonde,

"I'm sorry,"

Draco looked taken aback and lowered his wand slightly. He still scowled, but his eyes looked a bit more questioning.

"You're sorry?"

Harry nodded, "I flew off the handle and you were right, that I was a guest in your home and whether I agree with the things you say or not, I can't just… react the way I did. So, I'm sorry,"

Draco gradually tucked his wand away in his jean pocket and took a few more steps forward.

"Fine. Apology accepted,"

Harry's mind muttered that Malfoy should have some apologetic words for him as well and he felt his very veins twitching in annoyance. He decided not to voice himself, though, because he knew it would end terribly.

"So, is that why you're here?" Draco asked.

"Uhm," Harry began, "Well, no. I was hoping to have dinner with you. I'll treat. You know, to make it up to you,"

Draco's pearly teeth slipped out and bit the side of his full bottom lip.

"I'm not prepared for a night out. I've a guest,"

"You do?" Harry wondered aloud, "Who?"

"None of your business,"

They both looked behind Draco's shoulder, to the kitchen doors that swung open for a white cat to saunter through. The cat sat down and licked at its paw. Draco had learned that was Icarus' way of telling him that he'd finished his meal. He rolled his silver eyes and murmured "traitor" to Icarus.

"That your guest?" Harry asked jokingly.

Draco planted his hands on his slim hips and told Harry,

"Fine. But I don't want to go out. I'll make something here. You can stay,"

Harry smiled gratefully and gripped the vial beneath his cloak.

* * *

"Arthur," Molly called into kitchen.

He had only just stepped into the house from the long trip to Mr. Barthum's London office. He took a deep breath and called back,

"Yes, Molly?"

He quickly heard her pitter-patter on the hardwood floors, coming closer. He smiled, as she approached. Soon, she stood against him and wrapped her warm arms around his waist.

"I miss him,"

"He hasn't been gone a day, Molly,"

"Arthur," She whined.

He chuckled, leaned down and kissed her sweetly. She smiled at him, but Arthur could tell she was still upset.

"You're so pretty,"

She blushed in the way Arthur loved the most and she asked him, "What are you talking about?"

"You, Moll. You're pretty every day and I would love to take you out on a date. Do you think you're available?"

She laughed genuinely and pushed at his chest playfully. He chuckled and waited for her. She eyed him suspiciously with a big grin until she finally said, "Yeah, I think I could go out with you,"

He pumped his arm and closed his eyes, whispered, "Yes!"

She laughed again and they kissed, toe-to-toe, chest-to-chest.

"Oh, gross. Stop it, you guys. You're so weird,"

They broke their kiss to look by the entrance of the kitchen, where Percy stood with a repulsed expression.

"We eat here,"

Molly laughed loudly and Arthur winked at Percy, furthering the boy's discomfort.

* * *

Hermione sat outside, staring at the night sky. She wondered if Ron was doing well, if he was anxious or scared or missed her at all. She regretted not finding more privacy for the two of them before he left. She blushed at the thought of the things she wanted to do with him. She grimaced at the knowledge of how long she would have to wait. She drew her knees up and hoped he was thinking of her too. She heard a shuffle behind her and glanced over her shoulder at George. He smiled sympathetically and sat next to her.

"You're doing okay?" He asked.

"Yeah..." She answered, "Are you?"

"Oh, course!"

She eyed him and the dim lights changing in her irises explained that she was not inquiring about Ron's departure. His expression melted a bit, into something more solemn. He looked down at his feet and hesitated a very long minute before replying,

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess. I'm okay,"

She didn't entirely believe him, but she could believe that he was trying very hard to stay distracted. Perhaps he was trying to stay distracted so that he could further himself in getting okay, or perhaps he was staying distracted so as to avoid accepting that he wasn't. She knew he wasn't open to discussion on the topic and so she let it slide. She just moved her gaze to the night sky and wondered why the world suddenly felt far too large.

She wondered how her parents were.


	17. Chapter 17

_And I've collected all these thoughts,_

_And I'm dying just to lose them,_

_And if your words are true or not,_

_I'll die trying to prove them._

_But I'll just have to accept,_

_That my mind is so inept,_

_And the only thing that's left,_

_For me to do is to trust you._

_Convince me,_

_Because I really need your help._

_Oh convince me,_

_Because I can't see this for myself._

_I'll put the emphasis on the evidence._

_Begging for the proof,_

_Sometimes the hardest thing to believe is the truth._

_It's a world full of cynics,_

_Who say to stay alive in it,_

_You gotta stick with what you know._

_But the soul is always aching,_

_For the heart to start taking,_

_A chance by letting go._

_So let go._

_Let go._

* * *

Chapter 17

* * *

"You want something to drink?"

"Oh, I'll go grab something," Harry replied.

"Nonsense," Malfoy interjected, "You're my guest,"

"No, no," Harry insisted, "I'm here to make things up to you – I'll get myself a drink. You want anything?"

Draco gave Harry a suspicious side-glance before answering, "Fine. I've a sparkling cider in the refrigerator. You're welcome to whatever you want,"

Harry nodded and returned to the kitchen. A salmon steak was waiting for him, and despite asking Draco why there was such an abundance of fish in the manor, he had a good idea. He wondered why the cat was there and where it had come from. Harry was certainly an animal-lover, but any animal that enjoyed the cold company of Draco Malfoy surely couldn't be trusted. He poured the sparkling cider into two tall glasses, and then retrieved the bottle from his hanging cloak. He let a few drops fall into what was decidedly Draco's glass, until his nervous, shaking hand slipped and he poured a tremendous amount into it. He cursed to himself, then, for the sake of fairness, poured the same amount into his own glass. He sighed deeply, closed the bottle up, tucked it into the side of his cloak again and returned to the living room.

He placed Draco's glass before him and set down his own by his plate. The scents of the cider and salmon and spices melded surprisingly well in the room. Harry was unsure of how the night would turn out, considering their honest feelings for each other were less than kind. Draco gave him an approving look of gratitude and gripped the glass by its stem. He gave a half-smile and lifted the glass, gesturing to Harry that he wanted to have a 'cheers'. Harry took his glass, heart pounding violently and heard Draco ask,

"What would you like to cheer to, Potter?"

"Oh, uhm," Harry muttered, "Uh… to our newfound or… newly repaired…"

"Okay, that was a horrible idea. You're awful with words, Potter,"

Harry glared at him, half embarrassed and half annoyed. Draco just sighed and twirled his wrist so that the cider swirled around; the reminder of what was to come brought humility back to Harry in full force and he gulped rather loudly. Draco then said,

"To our future wellness and graciousness towards one another. We'll have a partnership that'll be made of the stuff of legends, Potter,"

Harry just nodded and they clanked their glasses together. Harry watched as Draco confidently brought the glass to his lips and took down a long sip. He was frozen with intrigue and fear and caution. Draco abruptly lurched forward, slamming his glass on the table and coughing furiously. Harry stood up quickly but was unsure of what to do.

"Wha-what did you pu-p-put into my damn-damned dr-drink, Potter!?" Draco accused angrily through wet coughs.

Harry opened his mouth but could not string together a coherent thought and ended up stammering,

"No, uhm – no, no – I'm sorry –"

"You arse!" Draco yelled as his coughs slowly calmed, "You… what is it? What did you poison me with, you scum?!"

Harry took a step backward and answered, "It's veritaserum…"

"What!?" Draco screeched, "How much!? Why!?"

"I mean, I think I put in too much, but… I … I just wanted you to be honest with me, Malfoy. I want to clear the air!"

"Oh! Well, poisoning my drink so that I am forced to adhere to your interrogation is a great way to start!"

Harry sighed and contemplated leaving until Draco stood up and started towards him.

"What?" Harry practically whispered.

"Is there veritaserum in your drink?"

"Yeah…"

Draco kicked Harry to the ground before he knew what was happening. Harry went to lean on his elbows only to find Draco on top of him. His knees straddled Harry's chest and pressed his upper arms against the floor. Draco had his glass in hand and forced his mouth open. Harry squirmed around under Draco's weight, but it was to no avail. He felt the potion heat his whole body as it slid down his throat and it caused such a spice and sharpness that he began coughing violently. He somehow found the strength to push Malfoy off of him and sit up.

For a moment they both just stared at each other on the floor of Malfoy's living room.

"Why did you do this?" Draco asked; it sounded dejected and vulnerable.

Harry immediately felt bad, but knew there was no turning back.

"I… I just have too many questions. I think that if there's something honest between us… we can make this…work better… you know?"

"Make what work better?" Draco inquired, "And why are you so hell bent on giving me this fucking charity?"

"It's not charity, Malfoy,"

"I'm sure that's what you tell yourself every day, Potter,"

"Stop!" Harry yelped.

Draco looked wide-eyed at him and while he had the floor, he added, "Stop, just stop. We'll… we'll both benefit from this. If you decide that you don't want to see me ever again, I'll stay away from you. But, if tonight can just end well, then I think we can be… friendly, Malfoy,"

The blonde let his expression relax and he crossed his arms over his chest before he asked,

"Alright. So, how did you plan on conducting this?"

"I'll ask a question, then you can ask a –"

"Why do you get to go first?" Malfoy interrupted.

"Because it was my idea,"

"No, no – if I knew anything about this, I never would have let it happen. I deserve to go first, considering how victimized I've been by you," Draco declared.

"What? Victimized? Are you serious?"

"Entirely, Potter," He said sternly.

Harry sighed deeply and said, "Okay. Fine. You start,"

Draco touched at his chin thoughtfully and crossed his legs. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. He eventually asked,

"Let's start slow. Favorite color?"

Harry smiled a little, grateful that Draco saw no reason to pry into dark topics or seek blackmail. At least, not yet.

"Blue. You?"

"Green,"

Harry cocked his head to the side and asked, "Why?"

"Eh-eh!" Draco chided, "It's my turn,"

Harry rolled his eyes and Draco hummed in thought. He finally asked,

"What's your favorite spell?"

"Hmm," Harry pouted contemplatively, "I think I like casting a patronus the most,"

"I heard you have your father's patronus,"

"I do," Harry replied proudly, "It's a stag. What's yours?"

Draco shook his head, "I don't have one,"

"What do you mean? Everyone has one. Do you just not know how to cast the spell?"

"No, I know how," Draco admitted, "I just…"

Harry leaned forward a little more, trying to appear more welcoming, "Just what?"

"…Snape tried to teach me. But, I… I didn't have a memory, uhm… strong enough,"

Harry felt the personal boundary fall around them, as if it were a physical wall that crumbled between them.

"I'm sorry," Was the only response Harry could come up with.

"Yeah. Well, it's my turn," Draco switched subjects, "What do you think of me?"

Harry tried to censor himself. He was determined to filter himself, and started off well enough.

"Well, I think you're a bit devious… you're sneaky, underhanded, sly, far too smart for your own good, vindictive, bitter, manipulative, sociopathic, vane and self-obsessed,"

So, he found his filter wasn't perfect while under the influence of truth serums. He was relieved to see Draco smirk and hear him reply,

"And the sky is blue, Potter,"

Harry chuckled and he saw Draco smirk.

That was the beginning of everything.


	18. Chapter 18

_Cut me deep so you can see,_

_Everything's not what it seems._

_On my knees, I'm breaking down._

_Just know I loved you when I hit the ground._

_I wander through these streets, a drifter no one sees,_

_Collecting memories, of you and me._

_I never meant to lose control,_

_I know I hurt you, I was wrong._

_I should've never let you go._

_So, if you leave this town, I would follow you right out,_

_The dark of every road to hold you afloat._

_Come down, I'm always around,_

_So if you fall down, I'm always around._

_Just come down, I'm always around._

_So if you fall down, I'm always around._

* * *

**Chapter 18**

* * *

"That's absurd,"

"It's true!"

"Well, obviously!" Draco laughed, "We've drowned in veritaserum for the last four hours, I know it's true! But Granger? Really?"

"I swear!" Harry laughed out, "Really! She was the one that wanted to ride the dragon out of Gringotts! Trust me, I've had my fill of dragons,"

Draco shook his head in disbelief; Harry had to admit he liked this side of Draco. They ended up eating their dinner on the floor with the fireplace going. Icarus was sleeping next to Draco, close to the warm fire and purring rather loudly. Harry had found himself laughing a lot and seeing Draco Malfoy smile and seem carelessly open and readable made his entire body shake. Draco eventually educated Harry on veritaserum, and how they had drank so much that he was safer staying at the Manor until it wore off. Harry had no complaints.

"Alright, it's my turn,"

Draco nodded at him, and he continued, "What's with the cat's name?"

"Icarus?"

"Yeah,"

Draco straightened his posture a touch and looked to the white cat before answering,

"Well, Icarus is an old Greek myth. I think it was Greek, anyway… uhm, it's about this young man Icarus and he wants to fly and soar with the angels. His father crafts these wings onto him, with wax. He is too excited, though. He has wanted to fly for so long and was so ambitious, that he flew so close to the sun that the wax melted and he fell from the sky, into the ocean…and he drowned. That's the story of Icarus,"

Harry frowned deeply, "That's terrible,"

"I like mythology," Draco started, "It's not about stories being sad or happy, really. Not like they are today. They're lessons. Icarus got too far ahead of himself. His wings weren't authentic and he dared the sun despite the dangers. It's a lesson. It's sad for Icarus, of course, but it's just a myth, after all,"

"Well, why did you name the cat Icarus?"

"No, no, it's my turn," Draco interjected.

Harry rolled his eyes – he had made that mistake several times over the previous few hours.

"Right, right. You go on, then," Harry urged.

"Why did you follow me around sixth year?"

Harry's heart sank immediately.

"You… you knew?"

"Of course I knew," Draco answered nonchalantly, "I'm not oblivious to my surroundings, unlike you. I was aware of you most of the time. Pansy or Crabbe would sometimes give me a heads up if you were close behind, or I just hadn't noticed you. But most of the time I knew,"

"Well, I thought you were up to something," Harry admitted.

"Yeah, but what did you think I was up to? You followed me all year,"

"Yeah, well…uh, I don't know. I didn't know exactly, I just got a bad feeling from you,"

"Well, your detective skills didn't fail you that time, at least,"

There was a long pause and Harry appreciated the shadows playing on Icarus. His eyes moved to Draco again, but the blonde didn't meet his stare. He was looking into the fireplace, seemingly deep in thought. The sunset colors painted over the side of Draco's face in a warm, flattering way. His eyes, so vacant of vibrant color truly adopted whatever colors were presented to them; they were so bright in the otherwise darkened room. He could see the glossy reflection of reds and oranges and there were white sparkles; sparkles he had never noticed before. They were the type of sparkles Harry saw in the eyes of Molly and Arthur, Ron and even Hermione. He saw them in the eyes of people fully engaged in their lives and it suddenly made sense to him that Draco was truly a separate existence from him.

That he knew next to nothing about Draco and was likely the only person in the world to ever get that close to knowing anything genuine about him. He noticed the gleam of Draco's platinum hair, the hollow of his throat and broadness of his shoulders. He made note of the crease in the middle of his chest, revealed by his tight shirt. He wondered how one could seem so thin, but still somehow be fit. He corrected himself inwardly, insisting that someone who made such a fierce seeker had to be fit. He had found his own body growing rather bulky with muscle. He blamed it on his lack of length; having shorter arms and legs than Malfoy had allowed his muscles to grow in width much faster. Malfoy probably got just as much exercise as him, but had a harder time building muscle, due to his lanky type of body.

He, by no means, seemed physically weak. Not to Harry, at least. Harry thought much of Draco looked strong. His cheekbones were sharp and his nose was smooth and pointed, his jaw was manly and usually tight. It wasn't tight, though, as Harry stared. He seemed entirely relaxed. He could see Malfoy's jugular vein pulsating. The thought of Malfoy's blood and heart and soul and magic made him dizzy. He realized a split moment later that Draco had long met his eyes. Harry's heart thumped loudly and the shine of Malfoy's long, blonde lashes and the slight view of his forehead was having a strange affect on Harry's pulse.

"It's your turn, Potter,"

"Oh, right,"

Harry sought for a question, looking up as if it would be written somewhere in the air above him. Draco tried hard not to smile at him, but Potter was precocious and nonsensical to him. No eloquence, no manners and no subtlety.

"What do you think of me?"

"You're annoying," He answered flatly.

Harry gave him a dry look and asked, "You're not keen on elaborating on that?"

"Fine," Draco sighed, "You're annoying. You're over-glorified by everyone, you're a big shot, and you're mindless, careless, ungracious, impolite, ill spoken, transparent and maddening. You're obnoxious, proud, judgmental –"

"Whoa, wait!" Harry shouted, "No! Me?! Judgmental? How could you –"

"Hey!" Draco interrupted with a pointed finger, "I'm not done yet,"

Harry scowled at him and relaxed himself again. Draco cleared his throat and began counting on his fingers, as he listed Harry's flaws.

"You're neurotic, idiotic, childish, impulsive, you've a hero complex, you're ignorant to the outside world and you only do, so-called, 'good' things if there's something in it for you,"

"That's completely untrue! I would never –"

"Eh, eh!" Draco chided, "That's not all,"

"Malfoy," Harry complained.

"You are absolutely all of those things," Draco insisted. He let his hands relax on his knees, and added, "But you're also strong, brave, kind, gentle, forthcoming, motivated, giving and self-sacrificing,"

Harry gaped shamelessly as Draco continued, "You're talented, unique, loyal, strong-headed, honorable and you don't force your problems onto others. You own your experiences and responsibilities. Your magic is legendary, and as far as I can tell, it lives up to the legend. You've shown an incredible capacity for trust and forgiveness and you are endlessly…fascinating,"

They stared at each other for a very long while. Draco appreciated the way Harry's hair silhouetted against the bright fireplace, the way his glasses glimmered in the moving light. He liked the look of incredibility on Potter's face – the way he seemed so stricken. He was enjoying the bob of Potter's Adam's apple. He was, in fact, enjoying all the shapes and movements of Potter's body. The curve of his shoulders, his strong brow and callused hands. He liked the button of his nose, he even found himself admiring the crease of Potter's body where his stomach and waist met and bent for him to sit in his Indian-style.

"So," Draco said before Harry could ask his questions, "What was it like dying?"

"W-what?" Harry stammered.

"When you died. Voldemort did kill you, didn't he?"

"W-well, yeah, but…"

"You're obviously alive, I want to know if you remember anything from… well, not being alive," Draco explained.

"Yeah," Harry said plainly, "Yeah, I remember… I remember being in front of the Hogwarts Express. I remember seeing Dumbledore…"

"Oh, did the old buffoon have any parting words for you?"

Harry had grown a good sense on Malfoy over the few hours he'd truly had the chance to know him. He could feel the guilt in Malfoy's voice. He could hear the uncertainty. He knew instantly that Malfoy wasn't asking the question for Harry's personal experience. He wanted to know if he would see his mother again. Harry was unsure of what information to include or exclude from his story. At the same time that he wanted to give Draco hope, the way a parent might want to give a child the hope of Santa Claus, he didn't want to mislead him. He wished he had a clear answer, but he had never been sure if what he experienced that night was real or not.

"Yeah. I mean… he explained himself. A little. I guess," Harry let out a desperate kind of chuckle, "I watched the horcrux inside me die… it was awful. He kind of… he kind of told me that I had a choice. You know, if I wanted to die or… if I wanted to go back,"

"Why do you think he'd give you that choice? When everyone else is in so much danger?"

Harry had never considered that thought and looked at the fire while he answered,

"I think… he knew I had been really… raised for slaughter. You know? I think, in the end… he felt bad. I think he wanted me to know that I could take the wheel from there. That I had done all that was really expected of me… I think he just… wanted me to…be happy. Even if that meant dying,"

Draco seemed to consider the idea.

"That's an awfully sad notion,"

"What is?"

"That your only chance at happiness, after all the lies and charades and tricks and death, was dying. On your terms, anyway," Draco thought aloud.

Harry met his eyes again and he found Malfoy's silvery, stormy eyes boring into his own. They were filled with something, some kind of emotion, but Harry couldn't decipher what. Whatever it was that Malfoy was letting leak from his heart and pour out from his irises created a tickling and new sensation. Harry could sense that it wasn't just in him. Whatever was created bonded Malfoy and him in a special way. The bond was like a bridge, a certain knot between them, and he could feel gratitude and gladness and exhaustion and bravery, acceptance, forgiveness and he felt anger diminish. He, without knowing why, reached his hand out to Malfoy. His palm and fingers were open, though he had no idea what he expected Malfoy to do. No words were traded between them. Draco only cautiously raised his arm and placed his spidery hand delicately into Harry's. The small space between them was bridged by their arms, their hands no longer wishing to hurt one another. Harry let his grip tighten and he felt Malfoy squeeze back. Both of their minds were blank, and neither knew what it meant, but they knew a chapter had just ended in both of their lives.

And a new one was about to begin.

"You want to stay over, Potter?"

Harry tilted his head a bit and the potion had nothing to do with his willingness to answer,

"Yeah. I do, actually. That'd be great,"

Harry worried about his palms sweating nervously when he saw Malfoy's full lips curl into a smile. Not a smirk, or look of superiority and nothing half-ed about it. It was a real and kind and welcoming smile, on Draco Malfoy's lips. What was more; it was meant for no one but him. No one else could see and for no one else it was given. It was his. Private and intimate; his smile was suddenly the most rare and most incredible gem of the world. It was a miracle, it was something magical. He got the same fluttery feeling in his chest, the same feeling he had when he cast his first spell, made his first friends – the moments that so few could truly understand.

"I've got a feeling the amount of veritaserum we had will have us talking in our sleep all night," Draco told him.

"Well… we don't have to go to sleep quite yet,"

Draco quirked a brow at him and Icarus let out a tiny yawn. Harry felt Draco's suddenly tensed hand relax again, and so did his expression. He glanced at the floor in a shy way that made Harry want to laugh.

"No. No, we don't yet,"

They shared a smile with each other and Draco cursed himself for being unable to tear his eyes from the shining lights in Potter's eyes, beyond his stupid glasses. Harry tried not to think about how he had somehow moved closer across the floor to Draco over the hours, and insisted to himself that their hands were simply transferring magical communication. He, for the first time in what seemed like his life, felt understood by someone.

"I'll lend you some pajama pants. Though, they may drag a bit on the floor, on you,"

Harry took his hand back and pushed Draco's shoulder playfully,

"Shut up,"

Neither of them truly wanted that, though.


	19. Chapter 19

_If I don't say this now, I will surely break._

_As I'm leaving the one I want to take,_

_Forget the urgency but hurry up and wait._

_My heart has started to separate._

_Be my baby,_

_I'll look after you._

_There now, steady love, so few come and don't go._

_Will you, won't you be the one I'll always know?_

_When I'm losing my control, the city spins around,_

_You're the only one who knows how to slow it down._

_Be my baby,_

_And I'll look after you._

_If ever there was a doubt,_

_My love she leans into me,_

_This most assuredly counts._

_She says most assuredly._

_It's always have and never hold,_

_You've begun to feel like home._

_What's mine is yours to leave or take._

_What's mine is yours to make your own._

* * *

**Chapter 19**

* * *

Icarus pawed at Draco's face, waking him at far too early an hour. He looked around in a daze and recalled how he and Harry Potter had stayed up into the wee hours talking. He remembered Whim bringing them blankets and hot chocolate and the fire going all night and how he laughed so much that his abs actually hurt. He pet Icarus and he started purring and snuggling against Draco. He looked over a few feet and the Chosen One lay there, sleeping soundly. Potter's face was relaxed and looked, really, quite stupid to Draco. His mouth was open slightly; he was turned on his side and looked entirely uncomfortable. His arms were messily strewn under his head, his ass was sticking out and his legs were parted widely. Draco couldn't understand how a human could sleep comfortably in such a position. Tempted to ridicule Harry in his head, he leaned a touch closer, to look for any evidence offering a suggestion that perhaps he wasn't entirely an idiot. Draco noticed that his eyelashes were very dark; that he had very pale evidence of freckles by the high curve of his cheeks and that his lips were pinkish and thin, but full and young. He heard very soft snores every now and again; he assumed that if Potter would just shut his mouth, his breathing would be entirely silent. There was still something about it that Draco could only describe as cute.

He crawled over to Potter and sat on the balls of his feet, before him. He gently removed Harry's glasses for him and put them neatly above the couch pillow he was sleeping on. His hand hovered in the air above Potter's slumbering face for a quiet moment, until temptation finally took over and he brushed the ebony hair out of the way and gazed upon the scar. The tips of his fingers only barely touched Harry's skin; they were a breath across the scar, just a soft breeze through his hair. Hardly there at all. He stared in wonderment, in awe of the prophecy.

_It looks like a lightning bolt_, He thought to himself, _just like the kids always said…_

He wanted to touch it; he wasn't certain why. Perhaps to validate that it was truly there at all – that it wasn't drawn on. And what would that mean? That the war must have been real. The past was real, the damage, the fear and evil – it had all been real. Draco unintentionally found himself chanting in his head that his parents were asleep, upstairs. They were, they had to be and that life had been just a terrible dream.

He wondered how many people had been so physically close to Potter, so close that they could ghost their digits across his scars, across his dreams. He believed Harry in that moment; that Harry wasn't giving him charity. For the hero to fall asleep next to Draco, to be left so vulnerable and defenseless – he must have trusted Draco. Harry trusted Draco not to hurt him. Draco's mind immediately called Harry a fool. He pondered on it, though, and decided he was honored and flattered and glad and… well, something else. There was something else bubbling inside him, but he couldn't determine what it was. He admired the muscles in Potter's neck and the strength that sat in his chest and shoulders. He imagined what it might be like, to touch Harry. He blushed furiously, even alone with his thoughts. Draco wasn't fond of textile sensations; not between he and anyone else, anyway.

He supposed that wasn't fair to say, though; he didn't entirely know what it was like to touch another person. He was never really allowed to, he never really engaged in it. He'd rested his head in Pansy's lap before, he'd fought before, but it wasn't really the same. It wasn't what he imagined touching really was. He wondered what it was like to hold someone's hand, to graze another person's face with his hands, to touch at someone's hair, to grip their face or neck. He decided he sounded far too much like Lavender Brown and shut his mind off from the subject.

He turned and saw Icarus about to pee on his father's ottoman and instantaneously leapt to his feet.

"Hey! No! No!"

The ruckus woke Potter and he was just slipping his glasses on when he saw Draco carrying the cat out the front door. He followed him; embarrassed that Malfoy's pajama pants were, in fact, too long on him. He caught up to Malfoy, standing with an irritated slump on his front lawn. He was holding Icarus up from under his little arms and Draco's arms were outstretched far beyond him. He saw Icarus' pee just flying out onto the lawn and the dry look on Malfoy's face. He let a grin spread over his face and he asked,

"Something wrong?"

Malfoy begrudgingly smirked back and admitted, "Ah, yes, we've yet to master the litter box yet. That, however, is in my room, and I wasn't about to carry him up the damn stairs peeing everywhere,"

Harry laughed out loudly and Draco liked the rough, scratched sound to his morning-voice. Harry still felt the level of his inhibitions – or lack thereof.

"We're still a bit, uhm… honest, aren't we?"

Draco shrugged, "Well, you put enough in our drinks to take down five, fully grown elves. It should wear off by this afternoon,"

Harry nodded and when Icarus was done making Draco grumble and scowl, they retreated inside. As soon as they stepped back inside, Harry saw six house elves, opening the curtains to the long windows, putting the fire out, dusting and sweeping the ash and filling the house with natural light. Draco walked past the scene aloofly, and gave only a curl of his index finger over his shoulder to tell Harry he should follow. He did, and was greeted by each elf as he walked by. When they were behind the kitchen door, Whim burst through and offered breakfast. Draco thanked him and he and Harry sat at the kitchen table together. Harry noticed the pile of boxes that he had brought up from Draco's basement, up against the wall adjacent to the table. He met Draco's eyes from across the table and was ready to pick up exactly where they had left off.

"So, why didn't you tell me you'd freed all your elves?"

Draco's eyes turned wide and he went to ask how Harry had known, but Harry pointed to Whim before he could get it out. Malfoy pouted with disapproval and answered,

"Potter, from the moment I was sorted – really, from the moment anyone heard a peep from me, no one expected good of me. Some people let that hurt them. I, on the other hand, just do and say what anyone will expect me to. People like to believe that their judgments of character make them wise, but truly it only means that they will not seek ulterior motive to anything I do. So, you saw house elves and you thought that they were my slaves. Why should I convince you that I'm anything but what you expect me to be?"

Harry nodded, but his fuzzy mind was still only just waking. Draco quirked a brow and inquired,

"What is it about me that made you think I'm a slave-owner?"

"Probably the fact that you own slaves,"

Draco glared and Harry tried to laugh, "You used to. Or your father used to. I guess I just didn't think about it. I'm sorry,"

Draco accepted the apology with a nod and gestured that he was ready for Potter to ask another question.

"You've got six elves here?"

"Yes, six,"

"What are their names?"

Draco accepted a mug of black coffee from Whim and proceeded to say,

"Whim, Brom, Lop, Finsy, Pip and Goff,"

Harry laughed and said, "Again,"

At that, Draco chuckled and said through a smile, "Whim, Brom, Lop, Finsy, Pip and Goff,"

"That's good. I like that," Harry laughed.

Whim brought Harry a tall glass of orange juice and went back to the stove where bacon crackled and eggs steamed.

"Did you ever like Granger?"

"Course I did. Still do, obviously. She's one of my best mates," Harry replied.

Draco rolled his stormy eyes and told him, "No, you idiot. Have you ever liked her in a romantic way?"

"Oh, Gods, no!" Harry denied, "No, no. Not like that. She's like a sister to me. And you know, even if she wasn't – even if I ever did like her, I don't think I'd have ever dated her. I wouldn't have betrayed Ron like that, ya know?"

"That sounds stupid, but okay,"

Harry tilted his head and pursed his lips, "Why is that stupid?"

"Romance – or affection isn't about who your friends are. It's your life, right? So, who cares if someone else's feelings get hurt? It's your right to do what you want to. Not your problem that Weasel's got tender feelings," Draco answered easily.

Harry sighed, quite sure that he and Draco Malfoy would never agree on some subjects. He just shook his head with a disbelieving chuckle and let quiet pass over them for a moment. Breakfast floated over to them and Harry found himself falling in love with organic foods and didn't deny himself a plateful. While Draco was distracted with slicing his eggs in half with his fork, Harry realized the next question he wanted the blonde to answer.

"Who was your first kiss?"

Draco choked on a bit of egg he had attempted to swallow when Harry let the sentence so clumsily fill the room. He was blushing madly and Harry found himself feeling victorious and giddy by the reaction.

"W-what? Why do you care?!"

"Just curious. Was it Pansy?"

"Merlin, no!" Draco sneered, "No, no! No, no, no, no!"

Harry laughed sympathetically for Pansy; anyone could see the hearts in her eyes when she was looking at Malfoy. The feelings were, apparently, not returned.

"So?" Harry pressed, "Who was it?"

Draco was trying hard to suck his lips entirely into his mouth, to keep silent. He shook his head and Harry laughed out again, insisting that he spill it. A mumbled noise came out and Harry had to ask again.

"Longbottom!"

Harry nearly fell out of his chair.

"Seriously!? How!? When!?"

"Ugh," Malfoy groaned, "I don't know. I don't know. He caught me in the boy's room. I was washing my face after a fight in the Slytherin common room. I got into a spat with Marcus Flint. He'd made some disgusting accusations about my mother, and you know me. The fists were flying a second later. I'll admit he beat me by a long shot, but I gave him a good go. Anyway, Longbottom was in the boy's room – why he was so close to the Slytherin corridor, I don't know. He kept telling me that he had all these fucking herbs or something that could help heal the cuts on my face, where Flint broke my skin. He went on about something or other – ohh, something about my seeming lonely and unloved and why can't I just accept help. I told him to bugger off, but he just…"

"He kissed you!?" Harry exclaimed.

"Shh!" Draco snapped, "Shut up!"

"What? There's no one here to hear it but us!"

"Yeah, just shut up, Potter," Malfoy grimaced and rubbed his forehead, "He asked if it was my first kiss and… ugh, he just felt bad for me. It was charity. It was him saying 'gee, sorry no one likes you, Malfoy' and just… I don't understand why he did it, and it certainly didn't make me go any easier on him. In fact, I made an effort to be particularly more crass to him after that day. But yeah, that was… that was my first kiss,"

"Well, you caught a gent, at least," Harry comforted, "Neville's the type to make breakfast in the morning, you know?"

Harry couldn't say anything more before a goopy, yellow egg yolk smacked him on the left side of his face. He wiped it off his glasses and looked up at Malfoy's cherry-red face and felt his smile spread ear-to-ear.

"You sure you wanna start this, Malfoy?"

"What? Scared, Potter?"

"Oh," Harry started with prowess, "You wish, Malfoy,"


	20. Chapter 20

_Where'd you go?_

_I miss you so,_

_Seems like it's been forever,_

_That you've been gone._

_She said "Some days I feel like shit,_

_Some days I wanna quit, and just be normal for a bit,"_

_I don't understand why you have to always be gone,_

_I get along but the trips always feel so long._

_And, I find myself trying to stay by the phone,_

_'Cause your voice always helps me to not feel so alone._

_I find myself just fillin' my time,_

_With anything to keep the thought of you from my mind._

_I'm doin' fine, and I'm plannin' to keep it that way._

_You can call me if you find that you have something to say,_

_Where'd you go?_

_I miss you so,_

_Seems like it's been forever,_

_That you've been gone,_

_Please come back home..._

_Please come back home..._

* * *

**Chapter 20**

* * *

After Draco, very kindly, ran Harry a bath and then took an hour to shower himself, they reconvened in the living room. Harry had been rubbing Icarus behind his pinkish and white ears when Draco descended the stairs to him. He stood in front of Harry and looked down that nose of his, hands perched neatly on his hips and he asked,

"You want to do something stupid and dangerous with me?"

Harry's brows sprang up his forehead, "I didn't think stupid and dangerous was your kind of thing?"

"Certainly not," Draco amended, "But it is the traditional, Gryffindor way, no?"

"Alright," Harry chuckled, "What are we doing?"

"Grab your broom and come with me,"

* * *

George was lying on the floor of his bedroom. He peeled himself off the hardwood floor and saw blood under him. His face was sticky with it and he couldn't recall anything after eating dinner. The smell and panic made him nauseous and he immediately rose to his feet; too quickly, really, and it made his head spin.

"What happened?" He thought aloud.

He wobbled into the bathroom, determined not to let his mother see him in his state. He washed his face and hands as well as he could; he scrubbed deeply and the soap stung, leading him to the wound on his head. It was small, but fairly deep and he couldn't recall at all how he had sustained it. His upper arms were bruised deeply and his knuckles were scabbed. He took his shaking limbs back into his room, after washing, and curled up into his bed. His fear was twisting all around his insides, but it could not conquer his very-almost apathetic fatigue. He fell asleep to daylight nightmares and his parents were locked out; the world was far away from him.

* * *

Hermione was sifting through old pictures of herself with her family; the few she had packed away before leaving seventh year. Her pictures were made by muggles; the kind that printed themselves out from the camera and one had to shake violently until it rushed with color. And they did not move. Her mother, holding her at the beach was obviously smiling and laughing, but she didn't budge. Her father helping her open a Christmas present – he would smile at her forever. They were frozen memories, of a past frozen behind her. A life she could not return to.

She was able to tell herself that she was doing so well and was perfectly alright when Ron was around. Having a boyfriend, one that was romantic and truly, emotionally entwined with her, was an exciting new adventure. However, when she was left alone with her thoughts, she worried if she was broken inside. It was one thing, to never truly know your parents, as Harry. It was another to be alive when your parents die, such as Malfoy. Her parents were alive, though. They were well and happy, without her. They didn't know she had ever existed and that left an empty, stinging feeling inside her. She almost hated seeing the Weasley family so happy with each other. The jealousy and envy made her teary-eyed; Mrs. Weasley was sweet and giving and Hermione was so glad to know her and be loved by her. But Mrs. Weasley was not her mother. Arthur Weasley was goofy and kind, but he was not her father.

Her old life could not be replaced. She reminded herself constantly as to why she did what she did; that she had to, for the sake of their safety. It was a decision that a mother might make when putting a child up for adoption, because she cannot afford a child. It is not for a lack of caring or love – it is for their betterment. Those thoughts brought her less and less comfort as time went on, though.

She heard Ginny rustling around in her bed sheets and glanced over. She had heard Ginny yelling at George the night before; she made some kind of claims that George knew where Harry was and that she was so mad, she would slap him if the threat of punishment wasn't so apparent. She was almost entirely silent during the family dinner and Hermione spent most of the time, lamenting Ron's absence with Molly. She thought about how Ron had confided in her that he was glad to hear that Ginny and Harry had yet to be intimate. Hermione could promise confidentiality, but Ron was always an exception. Ron had told her something along the lines of, "I was hoping no one would tell her she had a vagina. At least until she was married. Maybe not even then," – it was obvious to her that Ron felt uncomfortable with Harry dating Ginny, but he said nothing. He told Hermione that he said nothing about it, because he didn't feel he had a right to stop Harry or his sister from doing what they please.

She commented how mature that was of him, and he said to her 'always the tone of surprise' and they laughed together. She did worry, though. She worried for Harry's healing heart and mind; if he was truly struggling to connect with people again, it was cause for concern. She knew it took a while for Ron to feel comfortable touching other people again, even speaking to others at length; particularly after he found out about Lavender Brown. Death exiled petty emotions like jealousy or competition; Hermione no longer had ill feelings toward Lavender, and was never sure that she truly did. Once Ron heard that she had died in the battle, he insisted that he should have been there to protect her. He felt similarly about everyone from Hogwarts that ended up on the list of deceased or unfound. They had attended so many funerals in the weeks first following the battle. Ron lasted about five minutes speaking to Lavender's parents before excusing himself for air. Hermione gave him a hug, but it seemed little comfort to him at the time.

"Hermione?"

She looked up to Ginny again, across the room and staring at her sleepily, from beyond her bed covers.

"Mmm?"

"Did Harry ever come back last night?"

Hermione, at somewhat of a loss, just shook her head and watched Ginny sink under her covers again. She wanted to tell Ginny that she ought to allow Harry his space; that relationships hit bumps like this and that sometimes all people need is some time alone, without responsibility to anyone else. She might have suggested offering to take him out for dinner, but the last she mentioned that option, Ginny shrieked that as soon as he ever asked her out, she'd think of returning the favor.

Hermione sighed deeply, lying on her tummy, slipping her arms under her pillow and closing her eyes again. The lull of sleep was so much more enticing than the solemn loneliness of her waking thoughts.


	21. Chapter 21

_Our train's ahead,_

_and its patrons have been so mislead._

_Judges play gypsy roles,_

_Cherry pickin' while the gentlemen fall._

_Aching prophets scurry south,_

_Tangled up in all their vows._

_They can hear us from the street,_

_It's a shame we can't retreat._

_You see the road is seasoned,_

_with the bows of treason._

_Painted wagons are gleamin',_

_while the dust is settling._

* * *

**Chapter 21**

* * *

"This is definitely stupid," Harry validated.

"I know, I know, but bear with me," Draco waved him off.

Harry chuckled and shook his head as he watched Draco attempt to gain his balance. The blonde had taken him out in to the backyard, where Harry appreciated his mother's abandoned garden in its multi-colored abundance; though, he only saw it from beyond a patterned concrete wall. He walked across the patio that he had seen Pansy Parkinson dining, onto vast greenery. The Malfoy Manor certainly appeared bleak and solitary from the front, but once someone went inside or ventured the backyards, it seemed too vast for such a small family - much less, a single teenage boy. Draco shared that there was a flying trick he knew; that he had seen a Quidditch match many years ago, with the Vratsa Vultures going against the Fitchburg Finches. He had watched one of the Vratsa Vultures gloat in the middle of the game by riding his broom as one might ride a surfboard. He saw it happen for only a few seconds, but that since then, he had been hell bent on mastering the art. Harry was unsure if it were something that could be mastered; Harry had told Draco that there was a blatant reason that he had only seen that trick once. He said that it was a very interesting trick, but not a safe way of flying; to which, Draco replied 'you sound like my mother'.

Harry watched the blonde take his shoes off, roll up the sleeves of his shirt and cuff the hems of his pants. Harry strangely admired the shape of Malfoy's ankle, the even look of his feet – everything about him looked so prim and clean. He put his right foot in front, slipping the width of the broom between his two front toes. His left foot faced the tail end of the broom, and his big and second toe held the sides of the broom there also. His long legs and outstretched arms reminded Harry of a ballerina; he was forming himself to be so precise and Harry gauged Draco's experience in attempting this. He stood, cross-armed and thought that, even with rolled up pants and curly toes and tired eyes, he still looked so regal. Harry had asked what the purpose of the white peacocks in the yard were, and Draco had gone on some tangent about how aesthetics reflect class and care and that they played but a minor part in his family's image. Harry had only half-listened to him, but did notice that he had enjoyed hearing Draco speak at such length.

"Well?"

Harry snapped his eyes up into Draco's that stared expectantly at him.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Get on," Draco offered, as if it were obvious.

"What? No way!" Harry declined readily, "No, no – if this is some plot to kill me, Malfoy, you're –"

He scoffed and replied, "You're so paranoid. Just get on, by the tail. You're supposed to help me from killing _myself_,"

"And you're certain you've got to be on suicide watch on _my _broom?"

Draco rolled his eyes and answered, "You complain so much!"

"Me!?_ I_ complain too much?! Malfoy, do you even hear yourself when you speak, or do you just tune out the sound that comes out of your face? You are the most whiny, little –"

"I'm trying to share something with you, Potter!" He shouted over Harry's rant.

Harry paused thoughtfully and stared into Draco's silver eyes.

"Do you get it? You wanted to do this. To be friendly, right?"

Harry wanted to nod, but wasn't sure if his body would listen to him or not. Draco sighed and went on,

"I used to do this with Crabbe. He would spend two weeks of every summer at my house. And, obviously, up until last year, we would do this together. This is a personal, stupid hobby and I am inviting you to do it with me. So, are you going to get on, or not?"

Without any further hesitation, Harry standing, straddled the broom, behind Malfoy. He only asked,

"When we get in the air – this isn't going to smack me in the crotch, is it?"

Draco glanced back at him and told him with a shrug, "Guess we'll see,"

Harry's crotch was hit forcefully with the broom as it lifted off the ground to Draco's demand. He had a feeling that Malfoy had done it on purpose. Before Harry knew what was happening, they were seven feet in the air, and though Draco's physical balance seemed precarious, his face was full of confidence. He smiled and Harry saw his toes curl more tightly around the broom.

"I need you to hold onto my ankle – the one closest to you, obviously,"

"Obviously," Harry mimicked playfully; in truth, he was very nervous.

He could feel Draco's smirk without looking at him and saw him crouch more, bending at the knees. His arms were stretched out, flatly on either side of him and he gave the spark of flight with just a sweep of his arms.

Harry's butt was lifted off the broom and he worked hard to keep his knees so tightly together that he wouldn't fall off. They certainly couldn't keep a straight line, but Draco could turn them and despite his faltering left foot, Harry could feel him having fun and heard him chuckle. Harry looked up and squinted against the gusts of wind, and yelled,

"Malfoy! I'm going to fall off this damned thing!"

"You have to use one hand to hold onto the broom, you idiot!"

Harry immediately removed his right hand from Draco's foot and gripped the broom. He watched Draco's arms swerve like a bird's wings. They twisted and turned and when Harry dared to look below them, they had risen at least twenty more feet. He looked back up at Malfoy and his arms were slowly working back to his sides, but the broom maintained its speed. In one swift movement, his arms abruptly rose up into the air and he called out some freeing cry. Harry would have appreciated how spectacular the image was, if there had been a split second in between that and the broom turning vertically. As Draco fell back, Harry righted the broom evenly, horizontally and managed to catch Draco against his body.

Instead of terror or anger, as he expected, he heard Malfoy begin laughing gladly. He was out of breath and Harry noticed then, that there was a hand on his cheek. Draco's back was pressed up against Harry and he could feel Malfoy's belt against his hips. Draco's right arm was bent at the elbow and his spidery hand was touching Harry's cheek, almost lovingly. Harry only half-concentrated on the control of the broom; he found himself staring at Malfoy's face. Having fallen back the way he did, his cheek brushed Harry's and his torso leaned more against Harry's left side. He could see Draco's cheeks, lit up with blotchy red blush and few, small beads of sweat. His smile was enchanting; his face was filled with relief and the rush of danger.

Harry wondered momentarily if Draco would have done well in Gryffindor, or Ravenclaw.

"I can feel your heart, Potter!"

Harry felt heat spread over his face as Draco turned his head to him, smirking,

"Developing a bit of a crush are you?"

Harry smiled, suddenly assured that Draco Malfoy did belong in Slytherin.

"You want to fall to your death, Malfoy?"

He heard the blonde laugh loudly and felt him slither forward. He took control of the broom and called back, against the wind, "It'd be wise to hold on tight, Potter! I like it fast!"

Harry quickly wrapped his arms around Draco's ribs and felt an acute sensitivity in his stomach and chest that he'd never had before. Something about Draco's wording made him feel nervous and far too aware of his physicality. The last thought he had of the blonde before they zipped off into the sky for a playful ride, was that Draco Malfoy looked damn good on a broom.

* * *

George was sitting in his room, writing down his ideas for Giggling Gum, which would cause the chewer to lose control of their laughter. He smiled while writing down the ingredients he'd need; he would have to test it a lot, to make sure that hysterical laughter would ensue, but no one would suffocate. He paused in his writing, as he was sure for a moment that he'd heard shuffling feet.

He looked to his door, waiting for a pair of feet to walk by, but none did. He continued to hear the shuffling, and had somehow lost track of time, because by the time he looked down at his paper, he had written "far" messily all over the page. He dropped his quill and jumped off his bed in shock. He stared at his bed, unaware of what time it might be and he wondered if he'd been cursed. He decided to leave his room and escape the strangeness. He considered the possibility that Fred had begun haunting him.

* * *

"Mum,"

Molly looked up from her laundry and smiled at Percy, standing in her bedroom doorway. She sat cross-legged on her bed, folding piles of her aprons, dresses and blouses. She patted the space next to her and Percy silently followed the gesticulation, planting himself on the side of her bed.

"What can I do for you, Percy?" She asked sweetly.

"I need to…"

She could sense the uneasiness in Percy, and so stopped her chores. She tried making eye contact, but Percy was refusing to look up at her. When a single teardrop fell onto her comforter, she lunged forward and took her son in her arms. She cradled his head as he began to weep, she rocked them slowly and kept asking Percy what was so wrong. He was incoherent underneath the cascades of his tears, but managed to choke out,

"It should've been me, it should've been me – everyone is thinking it. It should've been me, and not Fred,"

Molly's heart sank and she tightened her hold on him,

"That's nonsense, Percy. I love you and we are a family – we all love each other. No one wants anyone dead. Your brothers and sister love you, Percy – no one would think such a horrible thing,"

He shook his head against her and felt like a small child again; words unavailable to him to express his sorrow and guilt. He knew that Fred would not wish him dead, if he were there; survivor's guilt was one thing, but being an older sibling having out-lived a younger is another. He did not know how to illustrate his pain; the pain of an older brother, unable to change the fate's design, no matter how smart or sorry.

"I couldn't protect him, I wasn't here – I didn't come home, I left and I shouldn't have – I shouldn't have and now he's gone and it should've been me, shouldn't it have? It should've been me,"

Molly hushed him and reassured him, over and over again, that he was immensely loved and forgiven. She was overcome with a feeling of dread, though; that Fred's death was killing the family. She worried that if a boy as bright as Percy could fool himself into believing that he should have known to martyr himself for his brother, that her other children must have been suffering deeply as well. But no one was speaking of it.

_How can I help, if they don't tell me what's wrong?_


	22. Chapter 22

_I wonder what you're doing, I wonder if you got it._

_I wonder how we used to ever go so long without it._

_And no matter where I go I'm coming back to you._

_Be where we oughta be._

_And I do want to show you I will run to you, for you,_

_'Til I can't stand on my own anymore._

_I cross my heart and hope to die._

* * *

**Chapter 22**

* * *

Harry had returned to the Burrow to an irate Ginny, who declared that he would be ignored for an indefinite period. She left the house on her broom after that, and Harry found himself slightly annoyed, but mostly relieved. He spent the evening drinking lavender tea with Molly and Hermione, in the living room with the fire going. He was so tempted to tell them about the flying he had done with Malfoy; how absolutely tolerable Draco Malfoy was behind closed doors. He found himself distracted with images of Malfoy balancing and laughing nervously on his broom; he struggled to pay attention to their conversation.

Hermione had asked Molly how she and Arthur had come to be together. She smiled nostalgically and looked off as she recited,

"Oh, we were young. He was in these advanced classes, you know – Arthur's always been bright like that. I'll admit, I was a bit more promiscuous back in those days," She giggled, "All my classmates already knew that I was considering not returning to school, so I could start a family – my biological clock started ticking the moment I hit puberty!"

Hermione laughed and Harry found himself genuinely intrigued.

"Arthur came to me, one day, and told me he would give me all the children I wanted, that he would work everyday for the rest of his life to allow me to live at home and raise those children. The only string attached was that I had to finish school, beside him as his girlfriend. Honestly, in the beginning, it just sounded like an ideal negotiation. I didn't realize I'd fall madly in love with him. And he kept his word, as you can readily see," She said, gesticulating to the family photos on the walls.

Harry felt himself blushing, unsure as to why. Molly added, "I had never interacted with Arthur until that day. Apparently he had a crush on me for a while before then. And my parents – oh, they were the final word in that deal,"

"Yeah?" Hermione asked, "How so?"

"If they said they didn't like him, then that would definitely have been a deal breaker. I remember the day I had him over; my mother was gardening and invited him to join her. He asked me if I'd be helping garden too, I told him yes and that's how we spent the day. Both my parents, Arthur and myself, gardening,"

"What did they think of him?" Harry inquired curiously.

Molly smiled lovingly, in memory, "A person can tell a lot about another by how they treat a flower. He was gentle with the flowers, stern with the soil and very careful when planting. He was patient and cautious. The day, in the sunshine, he made my parents laugh and was talkative and let it be known that he was quite nervous, but happy to be there. It was a perfect day,"

Hermione and Harry shared an admiring glance and smiled stupidly when Arthur wandered into the living room.

Happy days passed like that; Harry spent what time he could with Malfoy, often seeing him two or three times out of the week. Malfoy and he had taken to racing on their brooms and going out to London for upscale meals, which Draco would mercilessly criticize. He spoke to Draco briefly about his losses during the war; he got a bit teary-eyed, but testing the social waters with Malfoy was fascinating. After Harry had gone through a list of his loved ones past, Draco told him frankly,

"No one is ever gone from us. Fantastic and painful part of life, but once you love someone, you always do. You always do, or you never did. Fact of the matter is, if you love someone, they grow into you – like a new organ. I know it's bloody awful to miss people, but it means you spent your time well with them,"

Harry admitted to himself that Draco was far more insightful than he was. That, and that he certainly enjoyed spending time with him; no matter how strange it sounded in his head. And as far as Harry knew, no one suspected anything strange about his frequent absences. And if he were to believe Ginny's irritated claims, then she and Hermione were quite content to spend time together when he was gone being 'a lone wolf'. Molly threw him a small birthday party, and he could not have been happier that, finally, at 18, he could have some normalcy. He was rather disappointed to not hear from Malfoy, but spent the special day with the Weasley's, eating far too much and finally going to pick up Ron. Hermione was wonderfully attentive to Harry during his birthday, but it was rather apparent that she was celebratory for an entirely different reason.

He sometimes kissed Ginny and occasionally held hands with her, but it made him feel like insects had worked their way under his skin. He didn't know how to tell her that, though, so he kept quiet and inconspicuous. He found his tolerance for romance with her growing; Hermione told him that she believed his depression was slowly lessening.

Eventually, Hermione brought up how the papers had been exclaiming that Narcissa Malfoy had been murdered the day of her execution. Harry tried not to react, unsure of what to tell Hermione. He knew she wasn't murdered – she was emaciated, she had been tortured and maltreated. It seemed quite apparent to Harry what had happened to that woman and her sore, aged heart. At the mention of her, he imagined her first, but then her son. Blonde to white hair, sharp, stormy eyes and long lashes. He was also certain that he had grown taller since Narcissa's death.

_I'm spending entirely too much time thinking about Malfoy_, he told himself.

That became a common thought that crossed his mind.

Having Ron back lightened the house, as if in its entirety it had been sitting on Harry's shoulders. Ron shared fantastic stories of rare dragons and Hermione had a fit over seeing Ron's forearm wrapped up; he explained it was just a small burn, but nevertheless, Hermione insisted on dressing it later that night.

Over cake and opening what seemed like hundreds of letters and gifts from people Harry barely, if at all, knew, Ron shared his experience in Thailand of riding some baby dragons and feeding gigantic, rare ones. During his letter-present-opening, Luna had sent him a painting, which she had apparently made herself, which depicted his golden silhouette holding up the world. What he liked most about it was the just-visible Deathly Hallows symbol within the sphere of the Earth. Her letter in no way was cohesive as to her whereabouts or her recent adventures, but she clearly sent love and happy wishes for his birthday. Neville had sent him a sloppily written letter, expressing how much he would like to spend more time with Harry and wished he could be there on his birthday, but was thinking of him while visiting a cousin in Ireland. Seamus and Dean signed a card and present as a couple, it seemed. Harry, unfortunately, would never know what charmed gift they sent, because upon opening the package, it burst into flames.

Ron and George had found that particularly hilarious and Hermione was really the only one to help Harry clean the ash off his face. Hagrid had sent a lopsided cake and a note, describing the giant woman he had met over the summer and that peace was slowly breathing back into his life. Harry certainly loved hearing from his friends, but the obvious absence of gifts or letters from Lupin, Sirius, Tonks and Madeye draped a shade over the room. They all tried their best to ignore it.

As the night went on, he received five packs of mint humbugs from five separate people, two boxes of treacle tarts from Lee Jordan, a vast array of chocolate frogs (mostly melted) from various friends and acquaintances and a small pocket of nettle tea. Molly had made him a from-scratch mince pie and Harry even received a lovely, handwritten card from Dennis Creevy. The night brimmed with laughter and everyone ate far too much and Harry felt the ability to actually enjoy his birthday for the first time in what seemed an infinity.

Just as a sneaking disappointment began to tip-toe into his mind, the doorbell rang. Molly answered it; although no one was at the door, an owl came flying inside. It perched beside Harry. It was a young, white and blonde barn owl with a small envelope looped around its neck with black ribbon. Harry took the envelope and opened it delicately. It was likely the last letter and/or gift of the night, and so he took his time with it. The note was brief and written in neat cursive,

_Potter_

_Sorry about your owl._

_This is Ceridwen. (ke-rid-wen) Too young to know if she'll be as great as your last owl, but I picked her with precious care._

_Best of wishes on your birthday._

_D. Malfoy_

Harry stared at the note for a few silent moments. Hermione, Ginny, George and Ron were asking what it said, who it was from, but Harry couldn't hear them over the pounding of his heart. He looked up to the young owl who tilted her head at him in intrigue. He smiled, getting a good feeling from her.

_This is so kind… _

Harry barely knew how to process the kind gift. He could sense Malfoy's discomfort with sending a gift by the tonality of the note, but he didn't mind it. In fact, he appreciated it.

"Malfoy!?" Ginny exclaimed.

Harry jumped, realizing Ginny hovering behind him, reading the note over his shoulder. Excited noise suddenly burst in the room, though Hermione said nothing and looked at Harry as if she were almost angry. Ron snatched the note out of Harry's hand, but it was immediately stolen from him by Ginny. She read aloud,

"Sorry about your owl? Does he mean Hedwig? How in the world would he know about Hedwig?"

Harry could feel his face getting red; he knew he would have to come clean. Ron grabbed the note back and read it over before asking,

"Ceridwen is the name?"

The owl looked at Ron at that and he smiled at her, "Well, she's a beauty! Malfoy has definitely got that fancy kind of taste, but," Ron paused as he handed the note to Hermione for her to read, "why did he send you a note? Or a gift, at that?"

Harry opened his mouth, unsure of what would come out, but Hermione stole the opportunity from him.

"Harry…"

By her tone, he knew right away that she was angry. He felt his body stiffen nervously as she went on,

"Why would Malfoy give a damn about your birthday?"

Quiet finally filled the room again and Harry rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. Starting with a sigh, he found a lie that was truthful enough to pass.

"I was asked by the Ministry to try to find out where the Malfoy Fortune is being held – it's a secret, of course – the case - he doesn't know, no one knows. I've been seeing him a lot the last few weeks and he's beginning to trust me. That's all – that's all,"

He instantaneously felt sick; Hermione seemed very suspicious, but everyone else seemed to shrug it off. Ron made some jokes about giving the fortune over to him and how Malfoy should be living on the streets for the rotten things he'd done. Ginny made it clear that she forgave Harry for running off all the time, considering how fervently the Ministry needed to find that fortune. She didn't hesitate to insult Malfoy and his past behaviors either. George was the only one in the room aware of the truth, and Harry was only half pleased that he kept it to himself. Harry tried to stay quiet for the rest of the night and avoided eye-contact; Hermione was watching him closely, though and he couldn't explain – even to himself – why he had become such a liar.

He was shocked out of his self hatred when Ceridwen landed on his shoulder. She hopped down his arm and nudged his hand, which sat lazily on his thigh. He lifted his hand and was able to pick up from her eyes that she wanted to be pet. He laughed to himself a little before petting her soft feathers; she cooed and he thought to himself that Malfoy was a wonderful judge of character. At least when it came to owls.

* * *

Malfoy sat, soaking in his tub with sparkling oils while Icarus laid on the bathroom counter, atop the pajamas he had folded. He had been dozing all that day; unable to keep his eyes from feeling heavy. He certainly acknowledged that Potter had become a welcome, even delighted, house guest. He kept Draco from growing bored.

"I wonder what he's doing tonight," Draco wondered aloud.

He looked to the cat, who tilted his head.

"It's his birthday," His face took on a natural sneer before he added with disdain, "I'm sure he's attending a parade in his honor, or something,"

_That was a poorly formed insult._

His brain was so tired.

He let his eyelids slip closed and his body sank further under the silky water's steamy surface. He saw Potter, partially naked in the boy's locker room, after a Quidditch game. He had seen Potter without his shirt on before, as the boys' locker room split into different houses after a communal area. He had seen that chest many times. Pale and rather thin, though Potter was fit. He certainly didn't eat right; as Draco had made note of over the years of seeing Potter's meal plates fill with what may as well have been clogged arteries. Then again, Potter's thin body may have just been the frame he was dealt. Either way, Malfoy had noticed – he noticed everything about Potter. Every which way his black hair went, every thin, short hair on his chest – even the darker ones that left a shaded trail from his belly button to somewhere beneath his belt.

He noticed the curvatures of Potter's arms and waist; the stubble on his jaw. He noticed the few beauty marks on Potter's backside, and he noticed the veins in his hands; even his knobby knuckles. Before he could stop his mind from wandering, he was kissing Potter's knuckles, smelling him, torn between his anger and whatever other feeling he had that battled his sanity when he looked into those stupid, green eyes. His hands refused to form fists, though. His lips refused to make a sneer. In fact, they absolutely insisted on pressing against Potter's. Potter, with his naked chest, with his dark, messy hair, with his entrancing, green eyes and knobby knuckles and beauty marks and – oh, the mess Malfoy became on the inside.

He woke with a start; heart pounding and steam had filled the bathroom. He looked to Icarus who stared tiredly at him.

"How long was I just…?" He trailed off.

_Not even sleep is safe anymore._

He let the water cover him to the tip of his nose and contemplated drowning himself. One glance at Icarus erased any thoughts so selfish.

He soon after left the hot water and oil, dressed in his pajamas and said goodnight to his parents' bedroom door. He wondered if he should go inside, but he insisted to himself that he was not allowed. That closed his night with loneliness and he fell asleep to his typical nightmares.

* * *

**I'm sorry I've been gone so long! My life has been such a shitshow the last few weeks. I will be resuming normal updates on a weekly basis! Thank you for your patience and support and I love you all! Hope you enjoy your update!**


	23. Chapter 23

_If I die and go to hell real soon,_

_It will appear to me as this room._

_And for eternity I'd lay in bed,_

_In my boxers, half stoned, _

_With the pillow under my head._

_At this rate,_

_I'll be heading for electric chairs._

_I'm only human with my cross to bear._

_When she described her underwear,_

_I forgot all the rules my rabbi taught me in the old schul._

* * *

**Chapter 23**

* * *

"What's it like? Hanging out with that git?" Ron asked with a smile.

Harry could hear the real curiosity behind it, though and Hermione's focus on the conversation revealed her own interest. Harry shrugged, "He's like any other git, I guess,"

Ron laughed out and Hermione rolled her eyes. Harry shook his head with a cautious smile, admitting, "No, no. He's really not so bad once you get past his warped feelings of ownership,"

"I hate that about Malfoy," Ron started, "That prick always acts like 'e's owed something,"

"_I_ hate that he's so bloody rich," George complained to his toast, "He oughtta share the wealth,"

"Well, I hate the way he looks at people who don't regard him as royalty," Percy interjected.

"**I** hate his bigotry and sexism," Hermione added, then looked to Ginny, "What about you?"

She looked up from her breakfast plate from across the table to the trio. She stared thoughtfully and eventually hissed, "I hate that Malfoy is still alive,"

Harry decided this was not a road he wanted to go down the moment Ginny met his eyes. Harry did not consider himself clairvoyant often, but he could see the blame in her eyes. She was angry with him, maybe even infuriated with him, that he had saved Malfoy from the fire. He felt it from her, in her – she had every right to hate Malfoy, as most people did. Harry found that he had very little animosity left for Malfoy. His bullying and insults towards Harry were well received with disbelieving laughs and joking side glances nowadays. Occasionally, Draco even elbowed Harry in the ribs, if his sarcasm escaped. Harry couldn't help the shy smile that slowly crept upon his face. He was not always socially up to par, but he was learning how to make Malfoy laugh and their interactions had physicality to them, but not in malice.

He thought back to that dangerous, fiery night. His split second decision to save the prince of Slytherin's life was not difficult at the time. Flames nipped at his feet and bit his arms and hands as he flew back for Malfoy. Smoke filled the room and the waves of heat were visible, making the blonde a blurry, glossy vision below him. He chose Malfoy. He wanted Malfoy's hand in his, he did not let Ron get to him first. It was not Goyle he wanted to touch hands to; it was Malfoy. It was not Goyle he forgave in that moment.

_I forgive him._

The epiphany washed over his head like a waterfall, cooling the burns and turning the flames into harmless steam. When he reached for Malfoy's hand, he had unconsciously forgiven him. Without realizing it, without thinking about it – forgiveness had come so easily to him. His heart had been so ready to forgive and forget, more-so than he could have known.

He felt instantaneously twitchy and restless. He excused himself to shower, leaving Ginny's glares and the debate of who hated Malfoy more.

As he closed the bathroom door behind him, he let out a deep sigh. He removed his glasses, placing them delicately on the sink, then started the shower and let steam roll over the tub wall before stripping. He climbed behind the curtain and succumbed to the fatigue in his legs. He laid down and let the water slide over him. He closed his eyes, but they didn't stay closed for long; he found a sudden curiosity to see himself. He looked down his chest and abdomen and even stared at his legs for a while. It was as if he had never seen his own body before.

He turned his head a little to the right to see his arm and focused on the veins on his forearm. He flexed his palm open and closed and curled his fingers into a fist, just to watch the shadows in his arm change. He leaned his head against he tile wall and tried to recognize the adult-like body before him. Hair in places he didn't exactly remember there being any and a new feeling of ownership. His body was no longer a vessel for a prophet; it was the body of a boy with his life ahead of him. He was not public property anymore, just a kid. He wondered if he had grown to look like his father more-so now. A memory abruptly rose up in his head.

_"I heard you have your father's patronus,"_

_"It's a stag. What's yours?"_

_"I don't have one,"_

His brows creased and he felt the distinct shape of his scar moving with the skin of his forehead.

_"What do you mean? Everyone has one. Do you just not know how to cast the spell?"_

_"No, I know how…Snape tried to teach me. But, I… I didn't have a memory, uhm… strong enough,"_

"How sad," Harry murmured to himself.

How sad it must be to not have a memory happy enough to create a patronus. He wondered if that had changed at all, having given Malfoy his wand back. His mind quickly shifted to items of lesser importance, though. The way Draco's hair fell and his sarcastic flirtations as a means of being friendly. He felt a familiar throb in his stomach and chest. He looked down himself, to his groin, where blood and sensation was beginning to swell. He had become so accustomed to the impossibility of arousal that he'd almost forgotten what response to it was appropriate. Mesmerized, he kept on staring at its growth.

_"You're annoying. You're over-glorified by everyone, you're a big shot, and you're mindless, careless, ungracious, impolite, ill spoken, transparent and maddening,"_

He hardly thought about his reaction; his right hand gripped the base of his length and he bit his lip.

_Go on, Malfoy. What else am I?_

His hand moved up and down, the hot water making everything seem dreamlike.

"_You're also strong, brave, kind, gentle, forthcoming, motivated, giving,"_

_Strong? Brave? Kind?_

He blushed.

_Gentle?_

His hand tightened and picked up pace. A prince's voice broke through the steam in his mind, begging,

"_Please, Potter. Be gentle!"_

A soft but surprised moan slipped from his lips. Blonde hair, and long blonde lashes flashed up at him. He remembered seeing the skin of Malfoy's forehead for a short moment. Skin he didn't normally see. It was enough to make him throb. He tilted his head backward, feeling exposed without his glasses and far too full and far too exhausted to mind his own dream. He insisted that it was okay – whatever it was that was making him so aroused. Eons had passed since the last he felt good enough and lustful enough to enjoy himself. He bargained with no one that he would think on how strange it all was once he had finished, once the wave of arousal had passed. He recalled having Malfoy's palm against his cheek and pictured the way his slim body arched on his broom. His full lips and his pink, plush tongue and then he was imagining kissing Malfoy – what would Malfoy taste of? His wine? Mint? Tea?

"_Why, Potter, you dirty bird," Dream Malfoy scolded._

He wondered what Malfoy looked like under his clothes. He wanted to now, he wanted to taste – "Anhh!"

He muffled himself by biting his lower lip and he came hard. Having not cum in so long, there was a lot and it had landed at strange heights; namely, his chest and even on his forehead. He chuckled at the absurdity of being a teenaged boy and washed it off.

He didn't keep his promise to no one, though, and rather tried to forget what his first post-war fantasy was.


	24. Chapter 24

_Thought about -_  
_Singin' but I couldn't remember all of the words._  
_Breakin' but I couldn't get the pieces apart._  
_Laughin' - never knowing what the joke was about,_

_Now I'm down._

_And I wonder how I never got the burn,_  
_And if I'm ever gonna learn,_  
_How lonely people make a life._  
_One strain at a time._

_Forgot about -_  
_Everything and everyone I needed before._  
_Tryin' to get a handle on a reason to shine._  
_Pickin' up the pieces that are falling behind - takes time._

_So, I wonder how I never got the burn,_  
_And if I'm ever gonna learn,_  
_How lonely people make a life._  
_One strain at a time and still shine._

* * *

**Chapter 24**

* * *

Icarus lounged on Draco's left leg, stretching occasionally, but otherwise sleeping soundly in the warm sun. Draco had a book levitating in front of him, so he could lie back on his elbows and pet Icarus. He had decided to take advantage of the warm day, as England was typically gloomy and rainy. He took an advanced potions book out to his mother's garden with a blanket and Icarus followed. He had been up all night wondering if Potter had gotten his note or if Ceridwen had lost her way.

_Must not even occur to the baboon that acceptance letters are polite._

He sighed and rolled over, onto his stomach. The book followed and levitated before his eyes, while he shifted to fold his arms under his chin and Icarus begrudgingly moved to sleep on the small of his back. He looked over his left shoulder and said to his cat,

"It's good to have lazy days, Icarus, but father never tolerated them,"

The cat opened an eye to him, looking apathetic or incomprehensive.

"He didn't like it when I sat back like this. But it's nice, isn't it? Not having him here to lecture me about how I'll never amount to anything, or how I waste time, right? It's nice without him. Right?"

Icarus closed his eye and snuggled more against Draco's back.

"Well, I suppose you wouldn't have strong feelings on the matter, since you never got to meet him,"

A brief silence fell until Draco spoke aloud again,

"I don't understand why Potter's shown up,"

He looked over his shoulder to the cat and continued, "It's odd, isn't it? For someone like him to just appear out of nowhere? Into my life?"

Without any sign of appreciation for his inner struggle on Icarus' part, he continued his monologue in his head.

_What does that stupid, stingy, know-it-all Gryffindor want? Money? Oh, If he wants money, I swear, I'll really kill him. I'll punch him right in his smart mouth! Or maybe that's what he wants…maybe he wants… _

"Attention?"

Icarus sprang out of sleep at Draco's sudden reenter of conversation.

"Maybe he wants attention? Although, there has been rumor that he'll be entering the auror program after school…maybe he wants the money," Draco explained, "Maybe he's trying to get past the whole program and just impress the big-wigs with finding my fortune!"

He scowled at his book, "Tsh. Typical Potter! Trying to get away with the bare minimum while making it look like he's a big fucking hero,"

Draco only calmed when he heard Icarus let out a barely audible yawn. He twisted to look at the cat again and smiled.

"I'm jumping to conclusions again, aren't I? Alright, alright. But I think it will be good to bear in mind from now on. I don't trust him and he wouldn't act the way he's acting without… ulterior motives,"

He deeply sighed again and let himself get wrapped into his readings as before.

Harry was surprised to feel the emptiness of the air in Malfoy Manor when he arrived with a spark and crackle of green in the floo. He was greeted by Whim, who was dressed in comfortable, if small, clothes. He hurriedly offered Harry a drink, a snack, offered to announce his presence to Draco before letting him wander further in to the house. Upon asking where Draco was, if he was home, Whim let it slip that he was in his mother's garden, but not expecting any company. Always willing to peeve Malfoy, Harry went to search for him on his own, without announcing himself and against Whim's desperate begging.

When Harry found Malfoy, his heart skipped a quick beat. He smiled to himself, excited as a child. He crept from behind a few tall bushes and tip-toed towards the blonde.

"Hurry up, Potter. You're about as inconspicuous as a clabbert,"

He frowned and made his way, less cautiously, to Malfoy's side.

"Potions? Studying already? And how did you know I was here?"

"You're the only person I've met that walks with the delicate grace of a gorilla,"

Harry blushed a little and glared at the blonde as he continued, "And it's not study if it's recreational. I'm learning how to preserve my natural youth and beauty forever,"

Harry rolled his eyes and snorted; Draco snapped his eyes up at him from his book and shot, "What? What's so funny?"

"Your natural youth and beauty?"

Malfoy's thin brows curved, "Yeah? What's so funny about it?"

Harry couldn't help but chuckle again, "You sound like Lockhart,"

Malfoy scowled as Harry added, "Plus, you say natural, but if you try to make it last forever, it's not natural anymore,"

"Youth and beauty is transient blah, blah, blah, I know, I know," Malfoy complained, "You know, Severus taught me how to keep my physical heart young.,"

Harry tilted his head in intrigue; he envied Malfoy a little, for having a relationship with Snape.

"It doesn't last forever, but it gives a person another hundred years, at the least. That's fine and all, but I don't want to get old. I just can't imagine having wrinkles. Kill me before I've crow's feet,"

Harry laughed out loud, disturbing Icarus and earning a scowl from the cat. He quieted eventually and replied, "You're out of your mind. Getting older isn't that bad, Malfoy,"

"Wrinkles," He shrieked, "Wrinkles! Wrinkles **are** that bad. And if you think for a second I will have bags under my eyes, liver spots, a 'bad back', achy joints, grey hairs! Ugh! I can't even think about it without wanting regurgitate!"

"You're actually serious about that?"

"Of course!" Malfoy all but shouted, "You won't be charged with anything; it definitely counts as mercy-killing,"

Harry laughed and shook his head again, "Whatever you say, Malfoy,"

"Damn right whatever I say,"

Malfoy had gone back to reading until he heard Harry clear his voice. He looked up to boy wonder and admired for a quick second how nice his eyes were behind his glasses.

"Thank you, by the way. That's what I came here to uh… for the owl, Ceridwen. She's a beautiful owl and it was really thoughtful of you,"

Malfoy wasn't sure if it was out of secondhand embarrassment or some unprecedented feeling of flattery, but he found his face feeling hot. He looked away from Potter, in case he was blushing and flicked his wrist to him, waving his hand in dismissal,

"Not such a big deal, or anything. You would've needed an owl once we went back to Hogwarts anyway. It really was something you should've bought yourself. You should just count yourself blessed that you've such a giving friend like me,"

Before Malfoy could catch himself, Harry asked,

"Friend?"

Their eyes met nervously and Harry immediately knew he had the upper-hand. Draco felt as if he was shrinking away.

"You're the one who –"

"Who what?"

Malfoy's lips met in a tight line and Harry grinned.

"What's _with_ you today? You're acting like an idiot!"

Harry shrugged, "I dunno. I'm feeling good, is all,"

"Well, if you're like this when you're feeling good, then please, for the sake of my sanity, go back to feeling bad,"

Harry laughed at him again, "Come on, Malfoy. Let's go race – it's a perfect day for flying,"

"You'd say that if it were a hurricane outside,"

"And you'd be stubborn enough to race me, anyway," Harry challenged.

Right on cue, silver eyes beamed up at him; Malfoy's eyes had a spectacular way of saying silently, 'Your damn right.'

* * *

"I really don't like this," Ginny says while looking into her steamy mug of tea.

Hermione and Ron share a glance before Hermione asks, "You mean, about Malfoy?"

"He can't be trusted, you know?" She states more than asks, "I don't trust him. Harry's too trusting,"

"Well, once 'e finds the fortune, he'll drop 'im. Harry's brave, but not dumb,"

Hermione and Ginny gave him quirked brows until he shrugged and mumbled, "Not too dumb, anyway,"

"I don't like what Harry's been doing either, honestly," Hermione comments, "All the sneaking off and not telling us anything until he absolutely has to. It's not like him,"

"I think he's just struggling," George piped in.

All of the concerned faces turned to him and he said simply, "He's in a rough spot. His whole life has been about one event, that's now happened. I'm sure he's confused and a bit lost,"

Ron and Hermione glanced to each other with worry and guilt, but Ginny, ever the favored youngest, was still not keen on not receiving what she wanted.

"That's selfish," She complained.

Molly touched George's shoulder and said to him, "I think that's wonderfully mature of you, George," She looked to the surrounding teens, "Until Harry's hurting someone, we shouldn't interfere. Let 'im find 'imself. He's not had room to misbehave his entire life. I think this is a good time to just let Harry be a kid, hm?"

Ron nodded and smiled at his mother and she smiled sweetly back. Ginny made a reluctant noise of agreement and Molly left the group to their chatter.


	25. Chapter 25

_Pick apart,_

_The pieces of your heart,_

_And let me peer inside._

_Let me in,_

_Where only your thoughts have been._

_Let me occupy your mind,_

_As you do mine._

_You have lost,_

_Too much love,_

_To fear, doubt and distrust._

_(It's not enough)_

_You just threw away the key,_

_To your heart._

_You don't get burned,_

_('Cause nothing gets through)_

_It makes it easier._

_(Easier on you)_

_But that much more difficult for me._

_To make you see..._

_Your heart's a mess._

_You won't admit to it._

_It makes no sense,_

_But I'm desperate to connect._

_And you, you can't live like this._

* * *

**Chapter 25**

* * *

"Best seven of twelve!" Harry panted, "Come on!"

Draco laughed maniacally, "You've never lost a race before, have you?"

"You only won three of five! Don't get cocky!" Harry chuckled, giving chase to just keep up with Malfoy's walking pace.

"I won four out of five, actually," Draco corrected.

Harry laughed, "_No_, you won _three_ out of five and grabbed my broom from under me when I got too close to getting ahead of you on the fourth,"

"You're all about the small print, Potter!" Draco complained jokingly while waving his hand in dismissal.

"Putting my life in danger to win a broom race that literally has no consequence to anyone is not small print!"

Harry's brows sprang up his sweaty forehead in surprise at Draco abruptly falling to the grassy ground. Dexterous hands let go of his broom and he stretched, tensed and then laid comfortably on his stomach. Harry knelt down, placing his broom beside him and lying down next to Malfoy, though, on his back. Draco looked up to him upon hearing his weight crunching the grass below him.

"Do I really walk loudly?" Harry wondered.

"It's not about volume, it's about how you carry yourself,"

"What do you mean?"

Draco paused thoughtfully and Harry watched the grey clouds in Draco's irises swirl and change shade; Harry was able to tell that his question would not be answered.

"Come here,"

Harry leaned more closely to Malfoy, "Why? What is it?"

A lanky hand rose to his face and Malfoy's spidery fingers brushed some of Harry's hair from his forehead; revealing his scar.

"Do you mind if I…?"

"No, no," Harry answered, flustered, "No, go right ahead, it's fine,"

While Draco's fingers moved delicately around Harry's scar, he thought on how long it had been since someone was so fixated on it. He had grown used to people asking to see it after his first two years at Hogwarts, but attention towards it died down as the Magic community grew more familiar with him. It occurred to him then that it was possible that Malfoy saw his scar, maybe once or twice. He gasped involuntarily when Malfoy's index finger applied slight pressure to the indented skin, which scared his probing hand away.

"Oh, no, it's okay, I just – I don't really know what…"

"I-it's fine, really,"

Quiet swept over them until Harry asked, "So…what do you think?"

"I still think it's a stupid scar that's not special from anyone else's scars,"

Harry scowled, but felt the strange pang of disappointment. Ron's first reaction to seeing his scar was much more emotionally rewarding. He wasn't certain why he led himself to believe that Malfoy would react similarly, but perhaps it was wishful thinking.

"Malfoy…" Harry started.

His silver eyes lazily moved to Harry's ivy, "Mm?"

"Do you…do you still believe in Voldemort?"

Draco quirked a brow, nonchalantly, "Believe in? He was certainly real,"

"You know what I mean,"

Only a second of silence came, but to Harry it was an eternity. His heart pumped nervously; a wrong step on this road would condemn him. He wanted to build a bridge between himself and Malfoy, but the Slytherin made it so difficult to connect. He knew his question was not unbiased and that if he rejected Malfoy, no matter his response, that it would slow, if not completely end, any emotional progress.

"Why are you asking me this?"

"I need to know,"

"Why?" Draco pressed angrily, "What'll you do if I say yes? Or no? If I say yes, will you turn me in? Will you kill me?"

"Why do you keep accusing me of that?" Harry asked defensively.

"Because that's who you are!" Draco snapped, eyes suddenly lit and blazing while he sat up to meet Harry's stare, "You're a hero – you're their idol! You're a monster-slayer, Potter. And I'm just another mon –"

"Shut up, Malfoy! I haven't killed anyone!"

"**Liar**!" Draco screamed, "Liar! You're a goddamn liar! Are you out of your fucking mind?!"

"You know what I mean!" Harry yelled.

"No! No, I don't actually, Potter. You mean, what? That you didn't kill anyone who… what? Didn't deserve it?" Malfoy seethed.

Harry blanched and stood quickly, fists balled.

"What? Running away already? Why don't you just admit it? You only kill people if it's convenient, right? If they've earned it, right?"

"If you speak like that to me again, I'll punch you,"

Draco was momentarily stunned. Harry met his eyes again, glaring strongly against Malfoy's scowl.

"I mean it. If you go on like that, I will punch you. I don't want to jump you again like last time, so I'm warning you. I don't need you to make me feel guilty, Malfoy. I've got that under control, thanks,"

Harry watched cautiously, muscles tense with fear as the blonde stood; always so much taller than Harry.

"Just because my side lost doesn't mean that I have stopped believing what we fought for,"

Harry felt bile rise in his throat, "What? You mean believing a raving lunatic who would've killed you!? Killed you and your mother and father at a drop of a hat!?"

Draco's shoulders sat against his ears, his posture anxious and cornered,

"Voldemort didn't need to kill them! You and your precious Ministry seemed all too happy to watch them die!"

"Oh, but you've never killed anyone, Malfoy, have you? You wouldn't know anything about –"

"I killed someone! I have! I did!"

Harry gasped, unable to form a coherent thought before Malfoy took a dangerous step forward and he took one back.

"_Muggles_ have their place, Potter. I don't think it's in mass graves, but I **do** think that it is damn well far from Hogwarts – or any magical place. They need to mate with their own and stop dirtying the blood of truly magical families,"

Harry's hands moved on their own; his right hand into Draco's ribcage and his left immediately following, into Draco's abdomen. The air knocked out of him, it took Draco a second to comprehend that he'd finally snapped Harry again. His first swing missed, but his strong, lean legs flew high enough to land a throbbing pain into the side of Harry's head. Knocking off his glasses, Draco was able to temporarily disable Harry's violence, at which time he tackled Harry to the ground and continued to punch his stomach.

"Get off!" Harry coughed and moaned in agony, "Get off, Malfoy! Get off!"

"Or what?!" He spat.

"Please," Harry begged reluctantly.

The plea stopped Draco's hammering fists, but he still straddled Harry, looming over him with dignified fury. No longer a sociable, likable prince – he had become an angry, vengeful king. Harry gasped and coughed, attempting to catch his breath. Draco watched his torso flex and bounce under him; suddenly hot and bothered. He tried to keep his mind far from the twisted war of his head that battled fantasies of strangling Potter or kissing him. He reached over Harry's head to retrieve his glasses and held them until Harry had evened his breathing and quieted.

"You know exactly how to fire me up," Malfoy sneered.

"That's right. I become irate at your narrow-minded hatred to upset you, because everything everyone does is all about you,"

Malfoy's glower intensified, "You don't want your glasses, then?"

"Not if you're actually going to use them as a bargain for me to pretend you're right,"

"And how do you know I'm wrong?"

"Because hatred is never the answer," Harry told him, still slightly winded.

Draco swallowed a lump into his chest, "What if hatred's the only way to keep a person safe?"

"It's never the only way,"

Malfoy scoffed, dropped Harry's glasses onto his face unceremoniously and pushed off Harry's chest to rise to his feet; more violently than he needed to. He swiped his broom from the ground and began to walk off. He only made it a yard or so before he heard steps jogging to keep up with him. He stopped and turned to see Harry catching up to him.

"What? What do you want?"

Harry rubbed a friendly hand onto Draco's shoulder, reassuringly.

"Friends fight sometimes. It's natural. Doesn't mean we're not still friends,"

He watched in amazement as Malfoy's face turned pink and shocked. He started to smile, but Malfoy shoved his chest and mumbled something about him never saying anything like that again. He walked away again and Harry gave chase.

"Why are you angry?" Harry teased.

"I don't need your forgiveness, Potter," He hissed.

"I never said you had it,"

Malfoy whipped around to Harry, obviously battling whether or not to concede and make peace, or to throw another fist. He reached his arm out and patted Harry's shoulder. Harry glanced to the hand on his shoulder then back to Draco's stare.

"You can treat me to dinner tonight,"

Harry barked a laugh, "Fantastic. That was precisely what I was hoping to do with my evening,"

"If I could take me out to dinner too, I would," Draco announced regally.

Harry laughed again, "I have no doubt about that,"

Draco chuckled a little and they walked in companionable silence until Harry asked gently, "Will you teach me how to walk nicely?"

Draco looked at him from the corner of his eye, in a way that made Harry's heart bump and squirm. He smiled genuinely and answered,

"Gladly,"

* * *

**I hope you enjoy your updates, guys! Thank you for all the follows/favorites/reviews so far! It's so, so appreciated and encouraging! **


	26. Chapter 26

_Fear can drive stick,_  
_And it's taking me down this road._  
_A road down which,_  
_I swore I'd never go._  
_And here I sit,_  
_Thinking of God knows what._  
_Afraid to admit,_  
_I might self-destruct._

_So lock the windows,_  
_And bolt the door._  
_'Cause I've got enough problems,_  
_Without creating more._

_I feel like I was born,_  
_For devastation and reform._  
_Destroying everything I love,_  
_And the worst part is;_  
_I pull my heart out, reconstruct,_  
_And in the end it's nothing but,_  
_A shell of what I had when I first started._

* * *

**Chapter 26**

* * *

Having spent the night eating luxuriously and drinking richly, Harry had decided to go back to Draco's house with him. By dinner's end, the night was dark and Malfoy Manor loomed eerily beneath the moon. Harry was surprised by how comfortable he had grown; to anyone else, the mansion seemed an evil phantom in the night. To Harry, though, it was almost endearing and reminiscent of blonde hair and silver eyes.

"Alright, stand up," Draco ordered.

A relaxed buzz was flowing between them, making the evening painless and quite fun. Laughter came much more easily to Draco once he had some alcohol in him. Harry felt a mixture of endearment and pity for that. He stood up, in front of Draco while Icarus slept soundly beside the fire.

"Okay," Draco mumbled as he walked around to Harry's other side, "Chin up,"

Harry lifted his face in a comical, theatrical pride. Draco snorted in humor and then placed his hand, gently, on the center of Harry's back. The sensation made Harry's skin tickle and his neck felt abruptly naked.

"Straighten your back. You bend at your middle a bit and it makes you slouch,"

"What's wrong with slouching? I'm the savior of the Wizarding World, right? I get to slouch, don't I?"

"Not if you want to be a _gentlemanly_ savior of the Wizarding World," Draco mentioned.

Harry smiled when Draco appeared in front of him again, "Good thing I don't care too much about being gentlemanly,"

Draco gave him a dry look and Harry noticed the shimmer of Draco's just-licked lips as he announced, "Well, you're going to care about it now, because I don't hang around hoodlums,"

Harry laughed out loudly, "_Hoodlum_? I'm a hoodlum now?"

Draco chuckled and shared, "My etiquette tutor always called me that. I guess it just stuck!"

Harry calmed a bit and asked, "You had an etiquette tutor? That's messed up,"

"What's messed up about it?"

"You're a kid, you know," Harry started, "You're a person. You shouldn't be trained like a show dog,"

He watched Draco's posture and expression dissolve into a sad resignation. With a shrug he replied,

"Well, I am a show dog,"

Harry's brows furrowed, "What do you mean?"

"I was raised having, by birth right, this heirloom. The heirloom isn't an object, though, it's this reputation. My family has been around for centuries upon centuries and we're supposed to be this descending arrangement of matryoshka dolls. We're all supposed to look the same, act the same – while time moves on and the world changes around us, the Malfoy family is meant to keep a reputation of frozen time. Our reputation is literally meant to be un-individualized. Between courting techniques, etiquette, education, magic abilities and physical appearance, I'm identical to my great-great-great-great grandfather, all of those who came after him and before him. Do you see? I _am_ a show dog. That's what I was born for,"

"You seem pretty distanced from that idea, emotionally," Harry commented softly.

Draco's mouth slanted, "Eh, I suppose. It's just something I've always known. Anyway, lower your shoulders. You should align them with your ears,"

Harry obeyed while Draco stared him down, making him strangely self-conscious.

"Now walk towards me,"

Harry went to do so, but felt how uncomfortable his body was in such a strained position.

"No, no, no! You see? Your feet!" Draco complained.

Harry looked down to his bare feet on the hardwood floor and immediately heard, "Don't look down, idiot!"

Harry laughed, looking up again, "How am I supposed to see my feet if I'm not allowed to look down?"

He heard Draco laugh reluctantly, "Shut up, Potter,"

Harry let out a dramatic sigh and Draco added, "You've got to make it so that your kneecaps face forward,"

Harry tried to move his knees to do so but felt something almost like pain; mostly discomfort, though.

"This doesn't feel natural," He whined.

"Nothing elegant is natural," Draco easily replied.

Harry blushed when the back of his mind insisted that Draco's natural personality and habits, even physical attributes, were elegant. Even if he wanted to say so aloud, his throat closed up nervously.

"Malfoy, can I ask you a personal question?"

Silver eyes struck him with cautious intrigue before he answered calmly,

"Go ahead,"

"What is it that makes you feel that muggles shouldn't be in the magical world?"

Harry half-expected Draco to immediately punch him, but instead, he contemplated the question briefly before answering,

"It is not simple and you might think I'm very cold for this,"

Harry wondered for an instant if Draco Malfoy was concerned with how Harry thought of him.

"I just want to know," Harry encouraged gently.

"Being a pureblood, there's pressure from all over the magical world – even outside Europe – to procreate," He started, "The more muggles that make lives in the magical world, marry wizards and witches, the more watered down the magical genes become," He explained, "I'm speaking entirely on a scientific level with you. It is not beneficial for the wizarding community to engage with muggles. Not genetically. More magical children will be born unable to control their magic and unable to perform advanced magic, because their blood is mixed. Muggles have proven ignorant, judgmental and insane in the face of things that they do not understand. Especially when faced with power that they do not have. The more integrated the magical world becomes with the muggles' world, the more danger we put our future generations in,"

Harry nodded in understanding, "You said that you didn't believe they belonged in mass graves,"

"I stand by that," Draco breathed, "But I do think that they are a threat to the magical culture,"

"What of Hermione? She doesn't have any magic blood in her history and she's one of the strongest witches I've met,"

Draco shrugged, relaxed, "Granger is a muggle-born witch. Her existence is a question in and of itself. I'm sure her magic is strong and marrying herself into the Weasley family would be a wise choice for her children, if she should bear any. They've a long lineage of full, magical power,"

Harry laughed softly, sadly, "You're so…political about this. She doesn't want to marry Ron for his genes,"

"I know that," Draco responded coolly, "My family doesn't marry for love, though and so it's out of my nature to look at it in that light. It doesn't matter if they love each other or not; what parents would they make? Parents are partners. They are a team. Extreme emotions like love only get in the way of team goals. It is sometimes wiser to marry someone you don't love, because your judgment won't be clouded by it. In any case, their offspring will do well in the magical world,"

"So, you won't marry for love?" Harry inquired timidly.

Draco's face changed dramatically in the dim lighting and Harry felt as though the volume of the world was far too high.

"I probably won't get married at all,"

"Don't do that," Harry slipped ungraciously.

Draco quirked a brow at him and he loosened his stance, clearing his throat nervously,

"Youdeservetobehappyandalland Idon'twanttoseeyourui—"

"English, Potter. Your eloquence, or lack thereof, needs work,"

Harry sighed, inhaled deeply and then repeated, "You deserve to be happy. I really…want you to be happy,"

Draco's hand found Harry's and made the latter twitch with shock. Their eyes met and Harry only noticed then that he had ever moved his gaze away. Malfoy's eyes were welcoming, trusting and Harry hoped that his breath smelled nice, because Draco's pointed face was rather close.

"You should spend more time here,"

Harry felt thundering in his body, lightning striking his heart; left speechless, he nodded. He saw Draco's throat bob nervously with a barely audible gulp.

"Spend the weekend with me,"

Harry's eyes widened at the invitation, "F-for what?"

He cursed himself for stammering; just as he had stuttered, Draco felt more confident. His face painted a familiar smirk, but it died quite quickly.

"I need your help,"

"You…need my help?" Harry asked, disbelievingly.

He nodded once, "I haven't had the heart to go through my mother's things. I need support,"

He thought of Draco's history, or what he knew of it, and could never recall him asking anyone for anything.

"Is this the first time you've ever asked for help?"

The smirk came back, striking fear in Harry's heart and Draco's tone sounded much more flirtatious,

"Oh, Potter, is it that you want to be _my first_?"

_"__Why, Potter, you dirty bird,"_

Harry shoved Draco's chest with an uncomfortable laugh, making Draco chuckle.

"You're so easy to upset,"

"You keep coming onto me!" Harry defended through a broad smile, heart pounding away.

"I never said I was coming onto you," Draco replied slyly, feigning insult.

"You-you –" Harry grasped for words while Draco laughed at him, "You know what you're doing!"

"I haven't said anything perverse. Your mind is obviously the one in the gutter,"

Harry went to defend himself again, but he decided to let the joke slide; Draco could hardly keep from laughing. Harry rolled his eyes and very suddenly missed Draco's hand on his.

"I need to know, Malfoy…" Harry began; Draco's laughter died out before he asked, "Did you really kill someone, Malfoy?"

Darkness wrapped the room and Harry heard the windows rattle against a sudden wind. He didn't consider himself very in tune with magic energies, but he could feel Malfoy's magic. He could feel it pulsing through the room, throwing itself against the walls in fright.

"Why?" Draco asked, calmly, though Harry knew it was a disguise.

"I just want you to know I forgive you,"

Draco sneered, "I don't need your forgiveness, Potter,"

"I know," Harry replied with a shy smile, "I know you don't. I'd like to give it to you anyway,"

"You don't even know what I did," Draco responded coldly; Harry could see the hope twinkling behind the silver of his eyes, though. Harry and he were both hoping he had the right response.

_Everything with Malfoy is a test._

"It doesn't matter," Harry said at last, "I don't care about your past, Malfoy. I know who you are now and I …"

"You…?" Draco pressed.

Harry blushed, flattered by Draco's unabashed intrigue; which was likely a slip of his façade.

"I…trust you,"

Draco could feel his heart swelling. Never having been told such a thing, he was unsure of how to reply. He was not skilled in giving honest compliments. He brushed some hair from his forehead, making Harry glance at the show of skin.

"Good, uhm…" He started, "I, uhm…I trust you…also. As well,"

Harry began to smile, nervous to the brink of giggling, but feeling too exposed and vulnerable to laugh at Draco.

"It was a mistake, by the way,"

Harry hummed a questioning sound and Draco continued, while watching the fire, "I didn't kill someone on purpose. It was an accident,"

Harry felt his heart sigh; he hated admitting to himself that it was a relief. He had promised to forgive Draco no matter the sin, but he certainly found it easier to forgive him for an error.

"Oh," Harry tried to sound indifferent, "Well, you know I forgive you,"

Silver eyes rolled, unimpressed and it made Harry smile again.

"Right, thank you, Boy Wonder, for your saintly forgiveness,"

* * *

_George._

_George._

_George._

"What?!" He finally begged the empty air.

He locked himself in his room, trying to clear his head and extinguish the burning nausea he had been feeling all that day. Noise was rattling around the insides of his mind and he felt trapped in his waking thoughts. His heart was racing, his vision was blurred, his palms and face were clammy, but he was somehow exhausted. He was not sure what to do. He would not consider going to his mother or brothers.

He looked into his mirror and saw the state of his disarray. His hair was mussed, his face pale and sickly and his body was weak; his very cuticles felt chilled and sickly. He could not stop moving. His hands were twitching and he paced his bedroom floor.

"What? What is it?"

_George, you were there._

"What?"

_You were there, George, and you didn't save your brother._

George twisted around violently, making his head spin. He was distraught and he whispered back,

"I couldn't!"

_YOU DIDN'T. _

He fell back on to his bed, which may as well have been floating atop a whirlpool. Tornadoes in his eyes and emptiness all around. He tried to close his eyes, but he felt as if they would pop out of their sockets and so he opened them again. He pressed his fingers onto his eyelids, his legs still shaking violently.

_George._

_George._

"Stop!" He shouted, "Stop! Stop! Enough! Stop!"

_You are weak. You are nothing. When your mother looks at you, she will always see the son you let die. She counted on you to be there for him._

"Stop," He whimpered, turning onto his side and crying into his pillow, "Stop, please,"

_You failed her, George. You failed everyone._

His hazy vision hooked onto Fred's bed, across the floor. He felt bile rising in his throat and he agreed,

"I'm a failure,"

* * *

Molly bustled through the kitchen door with grocery bags stacked unbelievably high. When she sat them on the kitchen table, she saw Percy at the sink, washing dishes. She smiled lovingly and asked,

"Percy! What are you doing, dear?"

"Just cleaning. Keeping busy," He answered.

She nodded and outstretched her arms, offering an embrace. He took it and held her tightly.

"Where is your sister?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen her around home much these days,"

"Huh," Molly uttered with a shrug.

She smiled into his curly hair and announced,

"Well, I've got fantastic news, Percy,"

"Mm?" He hummed, pulling away to meet her eyes.

She was positively sparkling with excitement.

"Bill and Fleur are pregnant!"


	27. Chapter 27

**Have you ever been alone in a crowded room? Well, I'm here with you.**

**I said the world could be burning 'til there's nothing but dark blue…**

**Just dark blue.**

**This flood is slowly rising up, swallowing the ground,**

**Beneath my feet,.**

**Tell me how anybody thinks under this condition, so**

**I'll swim as the water rises up.**

**The sun is sinking down,**

**And now all I can see are the planets in a row,**

**Suggesting it's best that I slow down.**

* * *

**Chapter 27**

* * *

"Well, this is just a bunch of old clothes. Surely you can toss that out, right?" Harry inquired.

Draco shook his head negatively, snatching the black box from Harry.

"No! They're my mother's!"

"I get that, but what will you do with them? It'd be a waste to let them sit and collect dust, right? You should donate them," Harry suggested.

Draco made some form of a shocked and disgusted snort. They had spent the entire day on the kitchen floor; Harry found himself on the floor a lot at Malfoy's house. Helping Malfoy go through his mother's things proved much more trying than he first expected. He was not entirely cooperative.

"Donate!? **Donate**!? Do you even understand how expensive her clothes were!?"

"Does the price really matter that much, Malfoy?"

"Does it matter!? Her dresses were fitted for _her_ figure and hand-sewn! What alternate plane of existence are you from!? Of course it matters, you dunce!" He shouted.

Harry rolled his great, green eyes, sighed and put his hands up in surrender. Draco let out a deep breath and muttered, "Tch. Donate them. What idiocy,"

Whim and Goff had been serving them platters of snacks and drinks while they sat on the floor and rummaged through boxes. Despite Draco's general immaturity, Harry was enjoying himself. They had made progress, at least; twelve boxes were emptied and sorted into garbage or savings. Harry wanted to take pride in that fact, but there were still more than thirty boxes to go through. He stood, his knees cracking loudly enough to warrant Draco's stare. He stretched his arms and bent back for another few joints to crack.

"You alright?"

Harry looked down at blonde hair and concerned, silver eyes; "Yeah, of course."

The moment he met those stormy eyes, he realized the uniqueness of the interaction. He knew it wouldn't mean much to anyone else, but Draco Malfoy cared whether or not Harry had hurt his knees. The idea made him feel light and humored. Almost giddy.

"I'm going to go down to the basement and take up a few more,"

"Good idea," Draco complimented.

Harry turned and went past Finsy and Brom, who were cleaning, down the stairs into the basement. He saw a box, already opened, with bottles glistening in them. He went to pick it up, but it proved too heavy for him. He called up the stairs,

"Hey! Malfoy!"

A beat passed and he heard, "Yeah?"

"Come'eer!"

He heard a reluctant groan and the sound of Malfoy shuffling to his feet. He arrived at the top of the stairs, looking down his nose.

"What?"

Harry waved his arm forward, beckoning, "Come here,"

"Why?"

He gave Malfoy a dry look.

"Just come down here,"

"What's down there?"

"I am?" Harry laughed, "What are you doing? Just come down here!"

"This isn't a trick?"

"No! Just get down here, you prat!" Harry demanded with a smile.

The blonde descended and looked around cautiously.

"Well?" Harry started, "Fully satisfied that this isn't some ploy to kill you?"

Draco gave him a glare, but the sparkle of humor was not gone from his eyes when he replied, "I've still got my doubts,"

Harry rolled his eyes and Draco fought the urge to punch him. He could not explain why most everything Potter did irritated him. Potter didn't irritate him the way a fly might, or a muscle cramp or anything of that nature. He set a fire in Malfoy. When he rolled his brilliant, emerald eyes behind his glasses, it fed the fire. When he stood too close, when he touched Malfoy's hand or took his flirtations seriously or he breathed, it fed the fire. The real problem was that Draco didn't mind the burning, fire. That fact was what irritated him; if he hated the burning desire to touch or be near Potter, he could get by. It was the fact that the tingling heat all over his body was pleasant. It was the fact that he could feel the heat at night, when he was alone. He felt it when he was reading, studying or napping. He felt it in his dreams.

"What are these?" Harry asked, gesticulating towards the box.

Draco looked down, tilting his head in intrigue. He crouched down, balancing on the balls of his feet and Harry momentarily became distracted with the curvatures of Malfoy's spine and shoulders.

_He's very…_

He flicked some blonde hairs from his forehead and standing above him, Harry saw the shadow of his lashes cast down his face. His plush, pink tongue slithered out and licked his bottom lip in concentration and his thin wrist and spidery digits moved gracefully over the bottle tops. He picked one up and looked at it closely, brushing off some dust.

_Pretty…_

"This is a jar of old unicorn horns," Malfoy announced, jolting Harry from his thoughts.

"Unicorn horns?"

"Yeah, and this," He began, picking up another jar, "is some mandrake root."

His shining eyes darted excitedly to another container, mostly empty, "And that's some octopus powder!"

Harry positioned himself on one knee, picking up one of the bottles, "And what's this?"

"That's fairy wings, of course,"

"And this one?"

"Those are doxy eggs, though it looks like the third one's got a crack in it," Draco answered easily.

Harry chose another container randomly, "And these?"

"Are you blind? They're dragonfly thoraxes!"

Harry's lips swelled in a proud and endeared smile.

"What can you make with those?"

"You can make a lot of things with dragonfly thoraxes, but I'm pretty sure that Snape got me those for a Christmas a few years ago, so I could make a Girding potion," Draco explained with a nostalgic glistening in his eyes.

"And this?" Harry inquired, handing over a fogged, glass orb to Malfoy.

Their fingers brushed against one another briefly, making Harry glance away nervously; though he wasn't sure why. Malfoy's brow creased a little, until he twisted the top half of the orb off. He whiffed and Harry's vision focused on the small shadows around Draco's nostrils; he noticed how clean and clear Malfoy's skin was. He was porcelain. And so clean.

"That's sneezewort," Draco answered, "I don't know what it's used in besides Befuddlement Draught, though and I'm sure I've never made that one."

"You're really good at this," Harry thought aloud.

Malfoy cocked a brow, "What do you mean?"

"At potions, I mean," He elaborated, "You're really, uhm… knowledgeable about it. I wouldn't have been able to identify any of these things, much less tell you what potions they go in."

Draco gave a cautious smile, "Thanks. I suppose it comes with spending so much time around Snape,"

"Were you close with him?" Harry asked curiously.

"I'd like to think so," Draco replied, eyes falling to the ground, "I suppose I'm just not certain that he ever let anyone close to him,"

Harry hummed in understanding and then ventured, "Was there a reason he was so involved with your family?"

"My parents were in the same house and graduating class as Snape. When you are part of a class like that, for seven years, I imagine that it happens to all Hogwarts classmates; they socialize and build families and connections through each other. Everyone knows everyone kind of thing, you see?"

"Yeah," Harry responded fondly, "I like that idea. Even though Hogwarts is such a big place, that the students that grew up together still… I don't know. Stay together,"

"I don't like people knowing too much about me and my family, but I suppose it has its benefits," Draco replied.

Harry picked out a different, orb-shaped glass with clear liquid in it. He handed it to Draco and the blonde beamed,

"This is a special elixir. Snape made it for me for my eleventh birthday,"

"What does it do?" Harry inquired.

"He told me it can do anything," He chuckled, "It could be a jar of water, but I remember how excited I got. He told me to use it wisely. I'm pretty sure it was just to boost my confidence about making potions,"

"He gave you a lot of stuff," Harry said with a smile.

"Yeah," Draco muttered, eyes casting downward.

Harry reached an arm out, placing his hand kindly on Malfoy's broad shoulder. His grey eyes shot up and mixed with emerald.

"I…"

"What?"

Draco's eyes were twinkling with smoky secrets, making Harry's pulse jump; his porcelain jaw was set and Harry thought that Draco was chewing the inside of his lip nervously.

"Stop," Draco whispers; he breathes it, but it is thick with intent.

_Stop touching me, you ape._

Harry's brows furrow, "Why?"

_Stop touching me, or I'll…_

Harry's lips were reddish and he was far too close. Malfoy felt his hands twitching to break something. He wanted to bruise Potter; whether it be with his fists or his lips. There was electricity in Potter's fingers, when they touched his body.

"I'll…"

Potter's lips parted, ready to say or ask something; a glimpse of his moist tongue sent chills down Malfoy's back. His own, full lips began to part; appetite wet. He was a single moment from lunging forward and claiming Potter – "Master Draco!"

They both jumped in shock and Harry thought that he might have heard Draco actually growl.

"What?!" Draco shouted back up the stairs.

"There is a storm on its way and Master Draco's broom and Master Draco's Mother's gardening tools are still outside!" Whim called back from the top of the stairs.

Draco rose to his feet, allowing Harry's hand to slide off him; his eyes were closed as he brushed off his knees and began,

"Yes, yes, just tell mother that I'll – "

Whim's oversized hands leapt to his mouth in worry and Harry's brows sprang up; all three were bolted to the floor. Malfoy met Harry's eyes again, mortified with his own words; perhaps searching Potter's face for confirmation that he had said it at all. Harry watched a sickened red fill Draco's face, his eyes dropped to the ground again and he waved Whim away, "J-just go!"

"U-uhm, but the broom, Master Draco?"

"**Go**!" Draco yelled, twisting around quickly to face Whim from the foot of the stairs, "I'll get it! Just go away!"

The elf scampered away, chirping something to himself. Harry stood, facing Malfoy's long back, wondering what to say or do.

"Malfoy, are you ok—"

"Yes, I'm fine," He interjected sharply.

There was a shared kind of shaking in the room; aftershocks making rounds in their hearts.

"Malfoy," Harry begged, "Turn around,"

He didn't respond and so Harry strode forward and took Malfoy's figure into his arms from behind. He weaved his arms under Draco's to hug his torso, he tucked his nose into the crook of Malfoy's elegant neck. He spread his fingers, to touch as much of Malfoy as he could; encase him as completely as he was able.

_It's okay…_

He felt Malfoy tremble in his hold and he let the words fall from him, "It's okay,"

"Shut up," He snarled, wiggling to get out of Harry's embrace, "Let go,"

Draco broke away from him, without looking back and gestured for Harry to follow him.

"Come on up whenever you're ready,"

With that, Draco climbed the stairs. He left hurriedly, hoping that Potter would not know his eyes were filling with glassy humiliation.

* * *

**I'm so sorry I haven't updated in so long! I've been getting ready to go overseas! I am headed to Israel, but I will be back within the first week of January, at which point, I will have many updates ready for you! Please be patient with me! I LOVE YOU, FOLLOWERS/FAVORITE-ERS/WATCHERS/COMMENTERS! You are all amazing and forgive me for my delays! I swear that when I come back, this will be priority number one! **


	28. Chapter 28

So, you were born in an electrical storm,

Took a bite out the sun,

And saw your future in a machine built for two.

Now your rays make me kind of go crazy,

Shock and awe and amaze me,

Just a ticker tape parade and me.

Me, I was raised amid the trickle-down days,

I woke up numb in the haze,

And saw my future in a machine built for two.

But the light gave me some kind of fright.

How did wrong get so right?

And lead me stumbling through the dark of night?

Oh, something was wrong.

But you tap danced on the air, in the night,

Screaming at the top of your lungs, you said;

"Come on, come on,

Do what you want!

What could go wrong?

Oh, come on, come on, come on!"

* * *

**Chapter 28**

* * *

Molly jumped and patted her heart in fear as lightning cracked and thunder echoed, shaking the house.

"It's really pouring out there," Arthur announced; his voice was followed by another wet pair of feet against the kitchen floor.

Molly turned from her whistling kettle to kiss her husband and thank Ron for fetching firewood. Hermione gazed lovingly at Ron from the living room couch. She loved the look of him with his shirt plastered to him, his strong arms circled around blocks of wood. After he put the blocks down by the fire to let them dry and Arthur followed suit. He left back to the kitchen and after Hermione and Ron shared a humored glance, she patted the open seat beside her invitingly. He curtsied for her, making her giggle and roll her eyes, then welcomed himself to the length of the couch, resting his head in her lap.

She combed through the silky, wet strands of his red hair and sighed in contentment. He closed his eyes, relaxed, and said to her, softly,

"I used to dream about this,"

"About what?"

A loud crack of thunder made the house shudder and they both spared a thought for Harry; hoping he was not flying in such weather.

"Home, the fire going, no more war, no more fear or horcruxes…and you," He chuckled to himself, "I dreamed of you a lot."

"You mean _dreamt_," She corrected, "And, while I've been impressed with your romantic capabilities, Ronald, I can't imagine that all of your dreams were about lying in my lap, beside a fire in your mother's home."

He opened his eyes and smirked, "Well, to be fair, a lot of my dreams had to do with your whole lap-region, but I'd be lying if I said there was always a fire going, it was always in my mum's house or you were always completely dressed."

She smacked the top of his head lightly while he laughed. She muttered something about him being a pervert directly before another crash of pressure scared them.

"I hope Harry's safe," Hermione mentioned.

"…I don't want to talk about Harry," Ron told her.

Her eyes widened and her stomach twisted in an unfamiliar nervousness.

* * *

"Master Draco," Whim muttered, "Is there anything you would like for dinner?"

Harry shared a cautious glance with Whim before the blonde turned to the elf from his mother's box of books. His pointed face was stoic for the most part, in that Harry could see he was putting up a front. Whether the front was to keep him from crying or screaming, Harry could not tell. If there was noise outside the rain and thunder, outside the mansion and in his ribcage, then he could not hear it. Malfoy was so light-skinned, pale in the blue-grey night sky that came in through the tall windows. His shoulders were tight, straight, and his entire body looked tense. His full lips were parted and he saw the wet twinkle of saliva on his pink tongue; his teeth seemed sharp. Everything about Draco Malfoy seemed sharp.

"Potter,"

Harry's face filled with blood, his heart dropped into his stomach and he felt more heat rush into his loins. His arms tingled, remembering the feet of Malfoy's chest beneath them. He stammered, "W-what?"

Malfoy cocked a brow, "I asked you what you'd want. What's good food for a stormy night?"

Harry yelled inwardly at his heart to slow down while he replied, "Uhm… comfort food, I guess."

"Like what?"

Harry kept darting his stares back and forth between Whim and Malfoy.

_Why would he put me on the spot like this?_

Whim seemed to read his mind, shrugging and looking bewildered.

"Uhm…maybe…pizza?"

"Pizza," Draco repeated; Harry wanted to laugh at the absurd sound of Malfoy's royal voice enunciating such normal terms. He thought that Malfoy's voice better suited food words like 'Calamari' and 'Serloin' and 'Crème Brulee'.

"You heard the man, Whim," Draco half-ordered.

The elf nodded and trotted off into the kitchen. With a long sigh, Draco fell onto his couch and gestured for Harry to sit across from him. Draco's eyes went unnoticed while they traipsed along Harry's overgrown, messy hair.

_Needs a haircut._

A secretive part of Draco's more unconscious mind responded immediately with a series of heated visuals; of punching Harry's face and watching his hair flutter like feathers, of the wind wildly tearing at it while he rode his broom. Blurry scenes of pulling on ebony hair and thrusting wildly. An inner voice said insinuatingly,

_No, he doesn't._

Harry's eyes looked up into Malfoy's from under his long, dark lashes and Malfoy's heart beat a little more loudly.

"Is Whim _making_ pizza?"

Draco shook his head and looked at his cuticles, "No, he's going to go get it from a pizzeria,"

Harry's brows sprang nearly off his forehead, "How?"

"It's not uncommon, really – he does all of the grocery shoppings too," Draco explained nonchalantly, "They are masters of illusions – no one will ever be the wiser. Knowing Whim, he might just steal one."

Harry leaned back, felt the cushion groan under his weight and let a few clicks of the clock's hands go by before breaking the silence. Upon recalling the look of devastation on Malfoy's face earlier, he was tempted to ask if he was feeling better. He was tempted, but would not dare tread where Malfoy would not allow him.

"Have… have you ever had pizza, Malfoy?"

A derogatory smirk spilled across Malfoy's lips and Harry instantly regretted asking anything.

"You think I've never had pizza?"

Harry shrugged, embarrassed, "I-I dunno. It just sounds weird."

"You mean it sounds weird when I say the word 'pizza', or that 'Malfoy eating pizza' sounds weird?"

Harry chuckled, "Both, I guess,"

Draco smiled and nodded, "It's fine. To be honest, I only had pizza once before and I was young at the time, in Italy with my mother."

"You went to Italy?" Curious jade eyes lit up, making Malfoy's stomach squirm.

"Yeah – a friend of hers passed and left her some land in her will, so I went with her."

"But you said you were young at the time – seems far to travel and like adult business?" Harry questioned.

"Yeah," Draco began, "But she wouldn't leave me at home with my father."

"Why not?"

The air thickened and Harry became increasingly aware of the sounds of his own knuckles cracking.

"It's a long story," He said plainly.

"I've got time," Harry urged.

Whim popped his head into the room from the kitchen doors and cleared his tiny throat, "Would either Mr. Potter or Master Draco like a beverage?"

There was a pause wherein the boys looked at each other and Malfoy could tell by Potter's tight lips that he wanted something. He nodded in approval for Harry to admit what he wanted.

"Do you… have any veritaserum left?"

* * *

"Why?" Hermione queried, "Is something wrong?"

"No, of course not," Ron waved off her concern, "I just want to talk about you. Harry's great, but I'm more interested in you."

She smirked a little, "Alright. What do you want to talk about?"

"I want to know how you're doing."

"I'm doing okay," She started, very much aware that Ron already knew she was sugar-coating, "I miss my parents and I don't like to say that I regret things, but…and I know that it was to keep them safe, I just…" She sighed, "I just miss being a kid, I think."

"We grew up in a war," Ron muttered lowly, "We had to grow up fast."

Hermione bit her lip and nodded to herself. She raked her hand through his fiery scalp and appreciated the soft noises he responded with. Her heart was breaking and healing itself over and over. Pumping loudly and reverberating through her entire body. She craved warmth, his hands and lips and wanted to smell his hair and hear more of his voice. She leaned more over him, her big curls tickled his nose and encouraged him to open his eyes. They stared into each other for a short and intimate moment before Hermione asked in a whisper, "Can we go to your room?"

She delighted in the red tone his face took on. He bobbed his head at an anxious speed and they both rose from the couch and she followed him up the stairs and into his bedroom. He turned to face her as she closed the door behind her. Five feet sat between them, both standing straight and silent and wondering what the other was thinking. Hermione conceded first.

"I…want to see what you look like beneath your clothes."

Thunder bellowed outside and Ron had been momentarily positive that it was the sound of his heart. He was instantaneously insecure in his body and worried by her curiosity.

_S'easy to touch and see her, cause she's fucking gorgeous, but when it's reversed…._

He swallowed a hot stone and nodded, though it took more effort to move than usual.

"O-okay," He replied finally.

Her shy smile made him hard and he cursed himself.

_Calm down, calm down, calm down! You don't wann'er thinking you're a pervert!_

He admitted to himself that he kind of was.

His trembling hands shifted to the hem of his shirt; Hermione's pupils dilated and her pulse quickened. He let his jeans sit on his waist loosely while he pulled his shirt over his head. He had blotchy blushing across his freckled chest, shoulders and stomach. He had hair growing in a line from his navel to below the waistband of his underwear. His collarbone was defined and even a few feet away she could see the pulse of his jugular vein. The view made Hermione warm all over. He bent over, removed his shoes and socks and his big feet made her want to giggle; there was something remarkably cute about Ron being a boy. She watched his hands rest at his jeans' button and she could feel how nervous he was.

She flashed her eyes to him, not entirely knowing why, but it appeared to soothe him. He slipped the button out and slowly undid his zip. He placed his open palms on either side of his waist and gave the fabric a gentle push, and they fell to the floor. She flustered at the sight of his apparent hardness and a secret side of herself relished the dominance she had; eleven words, said sweetly and quietly and he would disrobe for her. She moved towards him, brought her arms over his shoulders and kissed him lovingly. She could feel his quivering, she felt how hot his body was and his tongue was unusually sweet. His hands found her waist and he pressed himself against her; she unintentionally moaned at the feel of his erection hard along her abdomen.

Their kisses deepened and hands began exploring; his heartbeat bumped against her own chest and he was thrilled to feel her interest in him. Between kisses, he gasped to her,

"You've no idea how much self control it takes to just be around you – you're perfect, Hermione,"

She blushed more deeply and he gazed romantically at her, "You're perfect."

* * *

Guess who's baaaaacccccckkkkkkkk!

Here is a little bit of porn for you. Super softcore. Because I was gone for a while. :D


	29. Chapter 29

When life leaves you high and dry

I'll be at your door tonight

If you need help, if you need help

I'll shut down the city lights,

I'll lie, cheat, I'll beg and bribe

To make you well, to make you well

When enemies are at your door

I'll carry you away from war

If you need help, if you need help

Your hope dangling by a string

I'll share in your suffering

To make you well, to make you well

Give me reasons to believe

That you would do the same for me

* * *

**Chapter 29**

* * *

Harry was so on edge that he jumped at every drum of thunder. He eventually looked up at the blonde to find he was already staring at him. He felt overheated.

"Do you like it?" Harry asked conversationally.

"It's disgusting," He judged.

Harry whitened nervously, but went on, "Would you be willing to tell me about the places you've been?"

Draco's brows rose, "You mean like my trip to Italy?"

"Yeah – how many places have you been to?"

Slim shoulders shrugged, "Oh, I don't know…I've been to Italy, France, Germany, Spain…hmm… Oh, I've been to Finland, though I hardly remember the trip – awful food poisoning left me in bed most of the time there. I've been to Greece too…I think that's it. That's all I can remember right now."

Harry's interest was visibly piqued, "What was Spain like?"

"Dreadful," He affirmed, "I hated Spain."

"Why?" Harry laughed.

"Well, my mother and I were there for the running of the bulls – what a mistake that was – the barbaric practices these muggles glorify – it makes me nauseous!" Draco declared, ripping cheese off his slice of pizza, "The people are awful, the language is ugly and it smells."

"It smells?"

"Smells."

"The whole place?"

"Yes. The entire country," Draco nodded with a full mouth, in all seriousness.

Harry chuckled again and stated, "I think your reviews are a bit harsh."

Before Draco could defend himself, Harry inquired, "What about Greece?"

"Goats. Goats and poor people and cheese," He mumbled through bites.

Harry laughed out loud and gave Draco's shoulder a friendly push, "You're such a prat."

Draco's instincts told him to punch Potter directly in the jaw, but he stopped himself. He couldn't place why he didn't want to punch Potter anymore – or why that mattered at all.

There was some gentle, passing quiet as Draco finished his plate and placed it on the coffee table and finished off his glass of veritaserum. Harry had taken his like a shot; bent his head back and let it burn his throat. Harry folded his hands on his knee and looked down to his feet.

"I liked France," Draco started sweetly and softly; nostalgia made his silver eyes glisten and Harry stilled, admiring them, "I remember seeing the sites and all the nonsense that tourists are told to do, but… I recall being on the train, leaving Nice and heading toward Saint Malo. The scenery was incredible and I was sitting by myself – my parents took a booth further down the train from me. I loved that," His eyelids looked heavy then as he went on, "I fell asleep on the train. When I woke up, all of my bags had been stolen. The scene my parents made was worth a BAFTA, at least. Because my identification was stolen, we ended up stranded in the middle of Bourges with the only bed available being in a hostel. I snuck out of bed in the middle of the night and, being on the second floor, we had a small balcony – if you could call it that – and I sat down on the cold concrete and eventually fell asleep."

"No offense, Malfoy," Harry began tentatively, "But that sounds like another awful family trip."

He shook his blonde hair, smiling weakly, "No – not really. I think…that is one of the very few times in my life that _life_ actually _happened_ to me, and I wasn't just following lines drawn for me," He tilted his head, eyeing his spidery hands, "Something unpredictable happened and rather than in my grandmother's sea-side mansion, on a king-size down blanket in front of a fire, I ended up on the concrete, under the stars in Bourges. I was so…I don't know…relieved, I guess."

Icarus jumped onto the couch just as thunder struck and Draco finally noticed Harry's shoulders twitching at the weather.

"Did you like Ceridwen?"

Harry grinned, "Yeah – she's great. Adorable, really. And very pretty."

Draco nodded, "I spent a lot of time picking her out, because I recall how fond you were of your last owl."

"Hedwig," Harry interjected, "Her name was Hedwig."

Malfoy nodded again, "Right, right. Hedwig. Well, seeing as she saved your life and all, I don't know if the bar is set too high for Ceridwen, but I think she'll serve you well. I'm good at picking pets."

"Oh, are you?"

"Very," He bragged, "I've always communicated better with animals than I have people."

"I assume that's excluding hippogriffs," Harry joked with a spreading smile.

Draco threw a crumpled up napkin at his face and reluctantly smiled too, "Shut up."

"Malfoy…can I ask you something personal?"

He contemplated this and Harry felt honor and calm wash over him when Draco gave him a single nod.

"I want to know if you've tried to cast a patronus since I gave you your wand back, and I also…I also want to know if you've gone in your parents' room at all."

"Why do you want to know that?"

Without explaining, Harry knew Draco meant the latter.

"Because I can help you go in there, if you want me to. Honestly, I figured you'd be the type to be thrilled at having inherited a master bedroom." Harry attempted to make light.

"I was able to cast a patronus and no, I haven't been," Draco confided bluntly, "I'd like to have the master bedroom, but I'd much better like to have my life back, so I wouldn't say I'm thrilled."

"What memory did you use?"

"Why do you care?"

Harry shut his mouth, feeling that he was close to stepping on landmines. He had ventured far and Malfoy had accommodated him - he had that much to be thankful for. He inwardly felt Narcissa's approval, but he somehow felt that she needed him to investigate the master bedroom. That he and Draco, both, had to see with their eyes, the emptiness inside.

"Because I care about you."

* * *

Percy left his bedroom, in search of company. He had an itching loneliness and once the war ended, he found that solitude only caused him anxiety. He did not voice the fact, but did not fight the urge to seek others in times of his anxiety. He checked Ginny's room first, thinking that he did not spend enough time with her. She was not there, though. He walked further down the hall, to the twins' room and stopped outside the closed door. He went to knock, but his chalky knuckles froze before tapping on the wood. His instincts told him to listen carefully; something felt wrong. His brow creased, he took a step forward and placed his open palm on the door. He heard only the rain outside, footsteps from downstairs and the crackling of the fireplace.

_That's not right…._

He knew George well enough to know that he would not sit alone in his room with no sound. He snored when he slept, and so he knew George was awake. When he wrote up recipes for potions and pranks, he let the radio play, and so he knew George wasn't working. He whistled when he cleaned, and so he knew that there was no straightening up going on in the room. He closed his eyes and tried to focus in, wondering if George could be wanting privacy for his own pleasures, but he heard no heavy breathing, no gasps or sounds of body. He opened his eyes, straightened his posture and knocked bravely on the door.

There was no response.

He tried again, and called George's name.

There was no response.

He cautiously gripped the door knob, turning it slowly.

_Not locked…_

He said his brother's name again, but silence greeted him. He pushed the door open and froze. The window was open, the curtains waving frantically in the sharp wind, the rain pouring onto the wood floor; books and games were tossed along the floor, clothes off hangers and draped on the bedframes, the ceiling fan, the bedspreads, the desks. Shredded papers strewn about and the weather had wet the floors far beyond the windowsill. A shelf was collapsed on the floor and what appeared to be vomit lie splattered on the sheets of George's bed. In the far corner of the room George stood, blankly staring at Percy; catatonic and pale and utterly, eerily still.

"George…"

It was whisper at first; the panic strangled him when he tried to speak. He found the strength to pull his heart out of his stomach, let it beat in his throat and yelled,

"George!"

"George!" He called as he climbed over piles of clothes, books and boxes.

"George! George, don't worry! Don't worry, I'm here!"

He felt isolation, even shame as tears welled up in his eyes. He was unsure of who the tears were for; himself, George or Fred.

George's eyes were dead, dilated and unblinking. He was so pale, his skin was translucent and Percy could see every vein and freckle, dark against it. Although petrified, he wrapped his arms around George's clammy body, shaking and cold himself, he tried to warm him. He tucked his face into George's hair and rocked him gently,

"George…wh-what's happened? What's happened, George?"

He kissed George's head and kept moving his hands, to cradle his head, or his shoulders or face.

"It's okay – it's okay, whatever it is. I'm here now," Percy assured.

He let go of George briefly, to shut the window and the room grew all that much darker. He glanced around at the mess in anxious bewilderment, but came back to his younger brother. He cupped his shoulders and asked,

"George, have you hurt yourself? Are you okay?"

Dry, chapped lips parted and he mumbled, "Far away."

Percy's brow furrowed more deeply, and he felt entirely inadequate. He called for his mother, and upon her response, he yelled for her to come to George's room. He heard her footsteps on the stairs and maintained eye contact with George. George whispered, as if casting a spell, "Far away, far away, far away."

Molly gasped at the sight of George's room, but she seemed to all but fall to ashes at the sight of George, himself. She heard Percy saying,

"It's okay, George, it's okay – I'm here now, I'm here – everything is okay."

His bloodshot eyes narrowed, so black and crazed; he pushed violently against Percy's chest, sending him to the wet floor. He saw George's feet; wet and dirty and unkempt. The clothes he wore were wrinkled.

"George!" Molly gasped again.

"**No**!" He bellowed, "No! No! No! No!"

Arthur had arrived at Molly's side and Ron, upon seeing the unfolding scene, encouraged Hermione to stay back from it. He took her back to his room, and said simply, that it was not for her to end up twisted in.

"No! Nothing is alright! Not you! Not you! Not you!"

He shook his head fervently and growled and cried out in a hoarse voice,

"You! You! You did this! You did this! Nothing is okay! Nothing! Nothing! Nothing! You – this is you-you-your fault! Your fault! 'I'm here now'!" He spit onto Percy's shirt, "**You **are here!? **You**!? No one **wanted** you here! You are the reason he's **gone**! You ruined, ruined, ruined everything! Everything! It's your fault! **Your fault**!"

"George! Stop it!" Molly demanded as she saw tears begin to stream down Percy's face.

George held the sides of his head, as if he were trying to squeeze his own brain. His expression was pained and he bent over, knees shaking while his mother made her way towards him. He continued to make incoherent sounds, animal like howling and groaning.

_Percy did this._

_**He killed your mother when he left for the ministry.**_

_**He killed your brother.**_

_Kill Percy._

He whipped his head around and banged it against the wall. Molly jumped in shock, then he did it again, and it was harder – louder. Again. Again. Molly screamed for him to stop, and as she did, blood painted the wall and George fell onto the ground, concussed.


End file.
